


We'll Be Lost Before Dawn

by You_Just_Mightx3



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Omega Louis, Other: See Story Notes, Stockholm Syndrome, Supernatural Elements, WIP, dark characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 96,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Just_Mightx3/pseuds/You_Just_Mightx3
Summary: “Shh.” Soft hands stretch forward to gentle on his skin, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. With his fangs, sharp and flashy, Harry wills his arms to function, but can’t find them under the nod-off, and instead attempts to use his natural weapons.“Careful there,” the words are faint. “You could hurt someone with those bad boys.”Another snarl is the only sound that emerges from his throat.“You need to learn to use your words. You warriors have the faces of Gods, but the smarts of rats. Reckon we all can’t win.”He isn’t bothered with whatever nonsense is spoken because he’s lost touch of his legs.Fighting against the shutdown Harry staggers again, the world tilts with his movements.Whisper soft impressions along his shoulders, then one harsh shove. He doesn’t feel the impact, but then he’s on his knees, unable to comprehend any of this as the cloaked figure leans over his shoulders. The material of the cloak toys with the skin of his numb cheek, then something tender, sickeningly sweeter than anything he’s ever felt before runs up his jawline to the curve of his ear. “Don’t fight it,” it’s silk and velvet and rose petals and damn it what. “Even the big boys fall sometimes.”





	1. Part One;

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Happy (belated) Halloween! Posting this is something I've had on my mind for quite a long time so I figured why not(: I am sorry for staying away so long. (To all/any of my LMWYEC readers: update-I have recently come to terms with the fic being hiatus. I apologize to any of you guys who have been waiting and hope I am forgiven.) Moving on, I hope you all enjoy this one. It's near and dear to my heart, even if I've yet to finish it. 
> 
> Additional Warnings: This au is loosely based on the Underworld films cocktailed with various other vampire elements/lore. Mildly Dubious Content. There are graphic depictions of violence, and there will be a scene in which Louis is sexually assaulted (unwanted kiss). Stockholm Syndrome as in Louis kidnaps Harry. 
> 
> Please, please, please do not read if there is a chance any of this could trigger you. Stay safe, sweethearts.
> 
> Dani xx

**Prologue, London, 1968:**

Long before the Executioners slaying, Harry Styles, succeeding heir to the warrior, death-dealer division, believed the earth homed the ceaseless vacancy known only to the frailest of beings. He has come to acknowledge his wrongs. People, of all species: vampire, lycan, shifter, fairy, anything known to possess the beat of nature, homes the vacancy.

Himself included.

It’s claimed every crevasse, every breath, which becomes him. A poison without cure. He feels aged measures beyond the number 115. Rather, Harry feels as though he’s lived thousands of lives. If the undead be considered a life he has ended twice as many.

It’s simply the principal of the things.

Victory had once seemed to be in the vampire’s grasp, their very birthright. Nearly five centuries have bygone them since that time yet the ancient blood feud has proved unwilling to follow its leader to the grave. Though the _ahmari_ are fewer in number, the war itself has become more perilous for the moon no longer holds her sway. Older, more powerful _ahmari_ now fit the mold of an everyday human, adapting near flawlessly. The weapons have evolved but the vampires’ orders remain the same: hunt them down and kill them off one by one. A most successful campaign. Perhaps too successful.

For those like Harry, a death-dealer, this signals the end of an era.

Like the weapons of the previous centuries they too will become obsolete.

Pity, because Harry lives for it.

He is not satisfied with the day’s carnage despite the time. Under strict curfew the civilians have already abandoned the streets, seeking their refuge within their rightful Coven, where they too are safe to fall into their _new night_ –which to any other might suggest _pause_ or _gave over_ or _go-the-hell-to-sleep…_ If only life was so very simple.

Sleep is an abstract concept to the Harry. A luxury he’s denied himself.  

He’s not set to the see the sun, but he is prepared to _;_ he is no Goddess in the sky, he does this to reserve the race. 

No matter he is not complaining–his way of life is livable, merely ill-suited for civilians.

A shadow of the night, the alpha’s movements are soundless, each footstep precise. Daylight’s imminence does nothing to slow him–he’s proficient and practiced at suppressing biological responses; he’s been disciplined to fear nothing and no one.

Which certainly aids him in the life he’s been born unto–here, to be afraid is to be dead.

Lifting his gaze to the sky, Harry finds the clouds that deliver the flurries have thinned out, and between the buildings the stars are crystal clear. The constellations tell him there is an hour left to be out alive. An hour until vampire confinement.

Uninterested in time he goes to turn towards the heart of this gloomy town…but comes to an abrupt halt, lifting his nose to inhale. The scent travels with the wind: decay. Vines of anticipation twine and twist his veins.

Without conscious permission Harry runs, tracking the scent he’s biologically designed to know toward Twentieth Street. Twentieth is a one-way off Trade, bracketed by office buildings that are asleep at this hour. As he streaks down its uneven, slushy pavement the scents assault his senses.

Multiple–metallic, vampire, and lifeless. Doubling his efforts, he blurs against gravity, disinclined to accept the hunch that he is nothing short of too late. Except his senses are never wrong–seven blocks down Harry scrapes to an instant standstill.

The scent is the spilt blood of a civilian vampire, and as the clouds part, moonlight spills onto a gruesome spectacle: a _post_ female, beta by the lingering scent, dressed in torn clothes. She’s long since reached the _Passing._ The female’s torso is twisted unnaturally, face battered past any hope of recognition. 

And the _ahmari_ to blame is rifling through the female’s pockets, no doubt hoping to find an address as a lead for more butchery–another Coven slaughtered.

The slayer must sense him as it looks over its shoulder. The thing appears in true form; white as limestone with stark, skeletal features and hollows for eyes. The _ahmari_ means only business as it leaps to its feet, towering over him, surging forward.

It’s not one-sided. Both charge at each other and meet as automobiles crashing at intersections do: frame-to-frame, weight-to-weight, force against force. In the initial meet-and-greet the death-dealer takes a smash to the jaw, the kind of throw that has one’s brains sloshing around in their skull. Even momentarily stunned, Harry returns the favor hard. Then he’s after the nasty creature, grabbing the back of the it’s jacket and flipping it off its boots.

See, Harry Styles likes to grapple. He’s damn excellent at the ground-game. More so than standing as his balance is more dishonorable than it should be for an alpha of his status.

The _ahmari_ is quick, though, shooting up from the icy pavement and throwing a kick that shuffles Harry’s internal organs. Unprepared, he stumbles backwards, and ( _predictable,_ the former Executioner would sneer) trips on a bloody bottle, blowing his ankle out, taking a seat on the express train down to the asphalt. Loosening his muscle, Harry keeps his stare level on the slayer, who closes in fast. The thing goes for his ankle, grabbing the boot attached to it and twisting with all the power in its massive chest and arms.

The move is one Harry has fallen victim to many times before his coming to power–not this time. Moving with the twist he flips face first onto the ground, shuts the pain out for when he can afford to feel it. Using his bad ankle and his arms as leverage, the alpha shoves away from the asphalt, brings his leg up to his chest before hammering it backwards to catch its knee, shattering the joint.

The thing shrieks, twisting as its leg bends in the wrong way. And then he falls on his back. Even in such positions the two grapple uncompromising, their forearms and biceps straining as they roll, ending up next to the slaughtered civilian. His species _,_ his to protect and defend, his loss.

Crimson clouds his vision as the irises shift in color–the emotion stuns him only a second. A second too long as the _ahmari_ takes its opportunity, biting his ear. Tearing himself free of the things daggerlike teeth Harry fists his frontal lobe, laying a bone-on-bone crack that stuns it long enough for him to find freedom.

Well, mostly.

A knife-like talon breaches his trench coat, sinking into his side just as he’s pulling his legs out from under his enemy. Sharp, shooting pain is a bee sting on steroids, and he knows the blades penetrated the muscle just below his ribcage on his left side. If it’s nicked an organ he’s in trouble–time to put this to bed.

Energized by the injury, the death-dealer grabs the _ahmari_ by the chin and the back of the head, then twists it like the cap of a bottle. The snap of its skull coming free of its spinal cord is like a branch cracking in two. The body goes slack, long arms flopping to the ground, legs going still.

One hand flattens over his side, and the warm liquid that stains and drips weakens his crest of power. He’s covered in cold sweat and his hands are shaking, but this show must go on.  

Quickly, Harry pats the creature down in search of something valuable before he sends the bastard straight to Papa’s door.

Its mouth works slowly, “ _Your heart shall belong to us one day.”_

 “Quite possible,” he exhales harshly, applying more pressure to his stab-wound, “But not today.”

“We shall…meet…again… _valkryn.” Valkryn,_ termed for the demonic entities of the night _,_ damned and soulless. Contrary to such fables, to the beliefs of the enemy, the vampire species derives from the Goddess of Night ( _Nyx)_ –their very essence is the blood of Her.

Delineation is impossible with his kind; therefore, Harry chooses not to respond, unsheathing one of his daggers to bring his arm up over his shoulder then drive the blade square into that wide chest. The telltale burst of darkness is enough to shower the entire alley _,_ and... _damn it all,_ the burst catches the civilian, eating her up as well thanks to a heavy gust of wind. As the two bodies are consumed all that remains on the breeze is the turbid stench of death _._

Goddess above, how is he to notify the poor female’s Coven now?

Unable to give in so easily Harry searches the area, and when he finds nothing, props against the wall. Each shallow draw of breath makes him feel as if he’s being stabbed again and again, but going without oxygen is not an option so he keeps at it. In his hand, the dagger’s black blade is coated with the inky blood of the _ahmari,_ and Harry imagines another vampire in his place, fighting _that,_ one not as strong as he _,_ a helpless civilian without the breeding he has _._

As the flesh regenerates fury consumes him, smothering and rousing the demon he harvests within. Sheathing the dagger again Harry straightens, careful not to tug the freshly sealed would, flexing his fingers as he snakes through the streets until he’s neared the public once again.

Noise, scents, humanity _._

As to not attract any unwanted attention, the alpha leans against another building, examining. Drunken humans stumble from closing pubs, slurring loudly, laughing.

The humans have always been obnoxious–weak, diverse, and unaware (so unaware of the heinous creatures clinging to their crowds, the same heinous creatures that are boundless in their mission to steal the souls of the innocent). It’s their ignorance that repulses him. Alas, it is best they stay so. They have no place in his world.  

Tracking all movements Harry identifies another of the enemy, appearing as human as any other. He knows otherwise. Since the Old Days, the previous Executioner had trained him and all his mercenaries to recognize these subtle differences; all _ahmari,_ like vampires, share a likeness in attribute.

They lack any natural pigmentation. Their eyes matte, giving no reflection as they are just a camouflage. Features in perfect proportion. Nothing to set them apart, much like the statues of the classical era.

Mostly, though, their design is vampire based. Pale and perfect, as the Empress often claims.

He watches them straggle behind another round of humans, focused on something ahead. His gaze follows the soulless things line of vision to catch the objects of their attention. Vampire, omega.

In seconds, his mind has analyzed all angles–thin, frail, newly post _._ Scared, and quite aware of where they stand–the lion’s den. It’s in their actions: hasty, stumbling, and unsound.

Fifteen minutes until daylight–not nearly time enough to reach the nearest Coven on foot. With their pursuers, there is no chance of them making it far _._ With damn proper reason civilians are prohibited from leaving the Covens two hours prior to sunrise, and that these two have somehow managed to remain on the streets until now turns his blood to venom.

How are the warriors expected to protect those so against protection?

These two mustn’t want protection as they are here _,_ and they are proceeding to stray from humanity, their only source of security. This is the very reason Harry’s begun to give up on them _–_ they’ve become endangered by their own inclination, and the denser the generations become…

Growling under his breath he watches the two round the corner of Sixth–if he doesn’t act now they will be slain.

Measures behind them, three _ahmari_ assemble, on the hunt. With the train in motion Harry tracks the enemy through the maze of downtown alleyways. The slayers are moving quickly in the falling snow, alert and scanning, in search of their next victims (who have seemed to vanish along the way– _good)._

On the same course, Harry is light over the ground, running on the heels of his boots, keeping close but not quite close enough. Dawn is approaching fast and hard, and even though he’s skimming the edge of night the desire to kill has overcome his will to survive knowing the enemy that delights in taking the lives of his charges continues to breathe easy. All he needs is to calculate the best take-down tactic.

Once again, the three round another bend, and this is the moment he deems fit. Close behind, he finds the large males have already cornered the two lost vampires. Terrified, the defenseless cower from the stalking predators. A split second slows as big, lightening-lit sapphire eyes, breathtakingly abnormal for any vampire _,_ cling to his–ingenious, hypnotizing…

In response to that gaze Harry strikes, _tracing_ behind the closest of them to wrap an arm around the creature’s chest and drag it away from the two vampires. The _ahmari_ fights him, and his comrades come to his defense, which means Harry is spectacularly outnumbered.

As the first struggles against his hold, another’s boot slams into the back of his right knee, and his leg gives under the force. Crumpling a bit, the alpha uses the loss to his advantage, gripping its comrade by the shoulder and hauling it backwards, bending so the _ahmari_ goes over his shoulders and sprawls out behind him on the ground.

Another weight slams into him from the side, throwing him feet away as Harry fumbles, all the while, with his holster for his pistol. Not wasting any time, the bulldozer slayer fists a chunk of his hair ( _the Council had been right, I should have chopped this length)_ and forces his head backwards to drag him forward so his face meets solid, frozen asphalt.

Lights burst behind his lids on impact. 

Someone whimpers. It’s not him. The sound is far too terrified, and his teeth are clenched behind tight lips, face preoccupied with being bashed against the ground–raw and ruined.

Blindly, Harry palms his pistol, calling on his senses to pinpoint the _ahmari’s_ position even as the creature continues his game–another, blood-spattering strike. His nose breaks under the force, and his fangs spring from his gums as his hand shoots backwards to grip its thick forearm and curl so the bones splinter under his fingers. Screaming, the thing loses its hold as Harry rolls onto his back. Panting, aiming to trigger in the same motion. Excellent as his aim is, the bullet straights through the enemy’s forehead, leaving a clear-cut hole as the body crumbles.

Its partners gather to finish its handiwork on Harry’s face.

He knows the aim is not to kill him. There is only one thing the _ahmari_ want from those of his world, the _true-blood_ world: his heart.

Unable to focus on location it’s impossible to _trace_ and as the pain shreds through him, blue vibrant eyes are what Harry sees behind closed eyes. And then he’s crashing into someone–realizing as he weighs the _someone_ down that he’s somehow found his way back to _big-blue-eyes._ “Sorry,” he mutters blearily, though his only response is a tiny whimper, “Behind you.”  

_Nay precious blue-eyes, don’t cry, don’t be scared, don’t–_

_Bloody hell._

Again, he’s being dragged away. Rough claws grip his arms, thrusting him into the snow, bashing away.

It’s nearly funny _,_ in this state, that these ugly creatures are so inclined to make him a whole new face. Dawn must be at most five minutes away, slowing his movements as much as the blood loss until there’s a strong claw around his throat.

Unconsciousness looms behind his heavy lids. He is counting the seconds calmly, fingers inching towards the dagger strapped to his thigh, going…going…

And it all stops. Without cause.

Swollen as his eyelids feel it’s difficult to understand what is happening, but suddenly the _ahmari’s_ actions have ceased, the life in its hold missing.

Choking on the unexpected oxygen, he coughs, then spits blood, shaking his head around the lame grasp before shoving the bodies away. There is no resistance, they collapse soundlessly.

Frenzied, Harry doesn’t spare the two omegas another glance, though he can sense they are still there, petrified.

All around the atmosphere glows _,_ sinuous electric blue brightens the alleyway, projecting from the invisible film casing them, though under Harry’s actions they bow, shaping his figure. _Blue-eyes,_ is where his mind goes.

Charged, influencing the elements, no snow falls, no wind howls, no noise breaches the barrier of energy. Frozen in time, indissoluble, _power._

Dropping the pistol, Harry separates his dagger yet again and makes swift work on plunging the black blade into each of the enemy’s chests. There is no darkness, no reaction. There is nothing able to manipulate this mystic energy.

Except without reason it dissolves into nonexistence, snow begins to flutter once more, the elements returning to their natural state. Only the eerie glow rests, the energy in the air bleeding into the crevasses of the ground, floating to coat the clouds…

Only frozen bits of time and matter waves as the voltage does until dawn is released from its confines (it should have arrived by now). As the sun rises, its rays burn his skin, eating away at his flesh, threatening him with its authority. For the vampires, the moon will always hold her sway.

He lifts his stare in search of…

_Blue-eyes._

_Nothing–_ he is alone. Sweltering as the sun greets the sky…

The two have vanished once again, this time to never return. More disappointed than he will ever admit Harry accepts his nature and disappears much the same.

☠☠

**Forty-Seven Years Later; 2015**

_Lycan’s,_ Harry Styles thinks as crimson paints his face, _bleed bloody rivers._ As the rogue shifter releases one last, heaving breath his lifeless gaze remains fixed on him. Even upon the _Passing_ that gaze is horrified. As personal as Harry is with his _hits_ this isn’t novel to him–their stares are always horrified. Even the fighters, the ones that refuse to accept their fate readily, always heave their final breaths in rightly placed horror.

Over the last century, Harry’s become something beyond the species’ reigning warrior, their prearranged Executioner. He doesn’t know what, he thinks something out of a freak-show or horror-house.

“May the Goddess see you safely unto the Passing _,_ ” he says at last, his fingers lowering the shifters lids easily. Wiping the blood from his dagger on the thigh of his trousers, he wonders whether the Goddess will do the same for him on the day of his death. It’s a fleeting thought– _certainly not._

A grimace contorts his features as blood that isn’t his own trickles down his temple.

Ironic that death is his life. So, there should be no doubt that the Goddess has already seen his soul damned. He lost his faith in Her long ago. He’s been damned since birth.

Turning away from the scene, Harry makes his way through the shifters bedroom into the washroom in the hallway. As the adrenaline dwindles, the vacancy from centuries ago settles again in his chest. Probably for the best. Heartless fits his job description.

Blankly, Harry makes use of the shifters French soaps, washing his face and throat, then his hands, watching the drain eat up the blood. Once clean, he runs his fingers through his hair, wild and lengthy from the lack of trim reaching just above below his ears, smoothing his rumpled clothing and concealing his weapons with his coat before seeing himself out of the now lifeless house.

Outside, the snow has yet again begun to fall: _winter._ The season most reviled by every vampire, the season the humans seem to consider most _“jolly”_ as they scramble about worshipping some fat, old fellow that doesn’t do anything about anything _._ Meanwhile the species continues to suffer, near endangered compared to the quantity of them just centuries ago.

Humans, endless in their ignorance, are causing everyone else a headache with their Christmas carols. He’s quite tempted to slaughter just _one_ ensemble in hopes of putting an end to it by striking fright of some sort of _Christmas-Carol-Creeper._

Honest, they are just begging for it. In the distance, cacophonous melodies beat his eardrums.

As to drown the noise out, the alpha starts the engine of his bike. Its purring roar pours out into the night.

Revving, he speeds down the empty streets, racing like there’s something to _get to,_ more than death and decay and _vacancy_ (easily disregarding the police–a bit mental manipulation works every time. _Humans,_ he thinks again.)

Onto the interstate towards the outskirts of Leeds, midway black clouds the edges of his visual scope. There’s an outage as his senses distort, and something akin to that wretched human problem _: vertigo_ acts as a black wave, colliding with him.

Just as rapid, the sensation evaporates. That’s certainly not right. All at once something is not right.

Refocusing on his destination Harry decides to examine all else once his transaction is complete, and reaches without further trouble just ten minutes later.

Screeching to an abrupt halt the alpha proceeds to kill the engine, headed towards the red phonebooth. Except on his feet he staggers, lightheaded and dizzy. Nothing is still. It all spirals and wavers, out of his control.

A ringing starts up in his ears– _in and out, in and out, in…out…_ until he’s braced against the booth in need of the support. Pacing his breath, he forces his body into its natural calm until he can think, _act._

_Transaction first, Styles._

Crammed in the tight space it takes him more time than should be necessary to dial the correct number. Nonetheless he makes it happen. It only rings once. “Problem solved,” his voice is distant. “You have an…” _what? Focus. Transaction._ “…an hour to complete the transaction.” 

He ends the call like that, wasting no time on threats or conversation. His clients know who he is, and what he is about. Such talk needs no bearings.

He stares outside the glass at his bike, considers _tracing_ to the Clans, but doesn’t. Instead, he opens the door and starts out into winters draft, shoveling through the layers of snow.

He’s almost made it when someone taps on his shoulder.

Instinctively, Harry whirls around, and is stunted by his own speed, faltering.

Coordination. Mobility. Thought process.

Drugged, he realizes too late, _I’ve been drugged._ There isn’t time to think of the _when_ or the _how,_ not right now anyway, assuming the _someone_ is behind this little scheme.

Its sheer will that keeps the alpha upright and not in the snow as he tries to regain control of his flimsy limbs, struggling to…to…do something. Vision edged by darkness, through the dim he can only make out what’s directly in front of him–which happens to be a strangely small, cloaked figure.

A fierce growl carries from deep in his chest, countered by a giggle from the cloaked one. “Shh.” Soft, soft, _so bloody soft,_ hands stretch forward to gentle on his skin, brushing his damp hair from his forehead (when had it gotten so _hot?)._ With his fangs, sharp and flashy, Harry wills his arms to function, but can’t find them under the nod-off, and instead attempts to use his natural weapons.

There is a scandalized yelp as the hand falls away from him.

 _Come back,_ some demanding voice fires in response to the loss.

 _Don’t touch me,_ he _actually_ thinks. Nobody touches him. It is forbidden.

“Careful there,” the words are faint and fine. “You could hurt someone with those bad boys.”

Yes, exactly the intention.

Another snarl is the only sound that emerges from his throat.

“You truly need to learn to use your words. You warriors have the faces of _Gods,_ but the smarts of _rats._ Reckon we all can’t win.” _Gods? Rats?_

He isn’t bothered with whatever nonsense is spoken because he’s lost touch of his legs.

Fighting against the shutdown Harry staggers again, the world tilts with his movements as his thoughts scatter like roaches when the lights been turned on. Damn it, _a light’s been turned on._

Whisper soft impressions along his shoulders, then one harsh shove. He doesn’t feel the impact, but then he’s on his knees, unable to comprehend any of this as the cloaked figure leans over his shoulders. The material of the cloak toys with the skin of his numb cheek, then something tender, sickeningly sweeter than anything he’s ever felt before runs up his jawline to the curve of his ear. “Don’t fight it,” it’s silk and velvet and rose petals and _damn it what._ “Even the big boys fall sometimes.”

With those words said something slams into the back of his head–before Harry can do anything else, darkness comes to swallow him whole.

&&

               Giddiness overwhelms Louis as he scampers down the East Wing’s corridor. Against the marble his combat boots echo, each _clink clink clink_ stifling the silence–one of the few things Louis despises is silence. Silence which parts so willingly to unwanted thoughts.

“Ghost,” the beta trailing him interrupts hesitantly. 

In his thrill, Louis giggles, whirling around (all the while marveling at how his cloak flows prettily with the abrupt motion). Facing the male now, Louis regards his handsome features from behind the thick veils–the beauty of the piece is its ability to mask his face without doing so to his vision. It’s been _glamoured_ by the greatest warlock known to the supernatural world, the one who goes by no name.

The nameless beta appears to be more than thirty years _post_ , with harsh, _harsh_ features (much too harsh for Louis’ preference), skull-trimmed hair and eyes the color of ashy coal, holding Louis’ buckets in either hand. It isn’t that the omega couldn’t very well carry them on his own, but when one has so many pets at their beck-and-call…

Well, Louis simply couldn’t resist the laziness–actually, no, he’s naturally a demanding, desirous creature which his Mother, two of the three Elders, empress to the species, once claimed to be the reason he’s never been courted more than a fortnight. Louis, on the other hand, decided ages ago that he does not want to be courted by an alpha who cannot fulfill (or at the very least _attempt to do so)_ his seemingly insatiable needs.

Especially not after the last pitiful excuse for an alpha (ugh it’s always the _politicians_ )–if one would call him an alpha at all, who had fainted when Louis had taken his vein. Admittedly, he _had_ begun to drain him, but he’s set his standards, and an alpha who cannot direct his biology is an alpha unworthy of his attentions.

“Yes, beta.”

“Are…” the bloke swallows, Adams apple bobbing attractively, “Are you quite sure this is what–?”

“Are you questioning me _,_ beta?” Louis demands sharply, narrowing his eyes even though the other cannot possibly see this dramatic effect (shame, really). Annoyance flares in his veins, as does the appealing urge to lash out the knife strapped to his upper thigh, but before he carries out this irrational deed the vampire flinches. In extremely high spirits, Louis is prepared to let this one slide, but the male makes the mistake of lifting his chin, defining his height, and continuing, “I was given direct orders from _Z_ to–,” These bold words are the tip of Louis’ fairly unstable iceberg.

In one fluid motion, the omega removes the knife to _trace_ behind the bulky vampire, and bury the blade in the muscle of his left thigh. This should get _his_ message across.

As the vampire falls to his knees, shouting hoarsely, Louis removes another of his weapons to snake an arm around and cozy the blade to his carotid artery. Pausing, he leans in to breathe into his ear, holding his deadweight with his cocked knee as the beta’s gone limp (can’t even handle a bit of pain, he thinks, amused and disgusted all at once). “I do not follow _direct orders._ I am above them. I am giving you the option to stand up and carry my buckets, _or,”_ he emphasizes this with the point of his knife, “get sliced.”

“My…” the beta gasps, voice catching on a pathetic moan. “ _I…My…dear Goddess…”_

“’M feeling exceptionally charitable this morning,” Louis persists impatiently, “so which would you prefer?” _Accidently_ the knife breaks the male’s skin enough that blood trickles, the scent unappealing now paired with the vampire’s stench of fear and sorry sounds, “Aye! Aye! I…I’ll stand! I will, swear it!”

Pleased with this, Louis giggles, “Swell! Good choice, mate!” then straps the knife to his thigh once again and rounds the panting, bloodied beta, extending his right, gloved hand. “My knife, please,” he requests politely, eyeing where the hilt protrudes from the vampire’s thick thigh. Impatience prods at him when the beta just continues to pant, rising unsteadily, then stumbling into the wall, moaning and struggling with the pain. An absolute mess _._

Grossed out, Louis sighs and shakes his head, then strides up to the cowering male, gripping the hilt in firm fingers and tugging. As the beta cries out again, the omega feels the flesh give way with a wet, slimy slide, then mutters in disgust, “You are unworthy of my use. It seems I must do everything myself. Leave me.” When the vampire sobs dryly, he repeats blankly, “Leave me, I say, now.”

Seemingly relieved to be dismissed with his heart beating _,_ the vampire dissipates, _tracing_ wherever the hell feeble creatures like him go to lick their wounds. Sighing again Louis wipes the blood from his knife and then straps it to his free thigh again. With that time-consuming distraction, his excitements lessened, though when he carries the buckets to the steel, bulletproof unit entrance it all returns in such an exhilarating rush of blood _._

Leaning into the security panel, the red scanner flashes in his right eye, then an electronic voice feeds through the techy device, _“Confirm identity.”_

“Ghost _three ninety-five,_ assignment one hundred twelve,” Louis states, then keys in the code, _‘1968’_ with a winning smile as access is immediately granted. The bolts release and the handle retracts from the doorframe. At ease, he ambles into the unit, lowering the buckets once the door by design shuts and the bolts slide into place once again.

Fleetingly, he surveys the judiciously designed unit’s white, steel plated barricade. There are no vents, no windows, and most important: no escape. These specifics, though well planned and prepared, do not intrigue him now after so many years, especially not when his _hit_ is mere feet away, chained across the unit. There the main attraction rests.

A steel dowel, steel being a vampire’s sort of kryptonite, starts from well beyond the ceiling, strengthened by the solidified metal sharing the structure, down to the white tile flooring. On these floor lies Harry Styles, a direct descendent of the purest of bloodlines, the _rahi,_ the greatest of warriors. Prime Commander of war, death, and justice. 

The privacy provides his omega the time to entertain each and every one of his smitten thoughts. _Oh, but Goddess, he’s so very beautiful, this death-dealer is._

Sprawled out, the alpha’s ankles are shackled to the post, bent underneath him in a position that cannot be comfortable, and his arms are shackled to the rod much the same, crossed above his head. Even now, like this, Harry Styles is _striking_ –all his waves are curling at the ends of his ears, there is blood dried in the thick strands, also streaking his cheekbone and his nose. The fierce scowl Harry wears is replaced with dark, furrowed brows, and frown-y face.

Even comatose Styles is never at rest.

Louis drinks in the slight build that defies his capabilities, the length of him (it is _really_ a length). Dressed in his usual _strictly black (dead man walking)_ attire (Louis had been especially careful stripping him of the heavy leather jacket lined with weapons, having confiscated the holster at his chest, the guns and daggers and throwing stars and the money _–_ which by now Styles has made enough to purchase an entire continent, not that it matters as Louis could possibly buy the entire world _)._ Honest, the pale of his skin must appear sickly to the human world, but the omega knows better than to dare assume this male is weak and unable to defend.

No, he’s witnessed Styles in action, witnessed his merciless grandeur. With these memories, shivers dance up his spine in chills. Louis exhales shakily. Though the omega would _never_ admit so, the only alpha that’s ever gotten under his skin like this, the only that’s ever truly held his attentions, is the same that spikes adrenal doses of terror through his veins.

From their initial introduction forty-seven years ago to three nights ago, crashing into the intimidating male, sneaking his fingers underneath his sleeved shirt, melting against the skin-to-skin contact. Louis had been terrified the alpha would feel the prick of the rings inoculation, but Styles hadn’t even _seen him_ (which infuriated him–never has an alpha of any standing, certainly not an alpha of the Clans _,_ dismissed him. No, Louis, heir to the royal throne, does the dismissing always _)_ stalking past him before Louis even steadied on his feet.

Again, he would take his last breath before allowing this information to reach the ears of any living soul _,_ not even his best mate, Zayn, who had caught onto his hopeless infatuation with the unreachable Clans most lethal weapon thirty or so years ago, at exactly midnight when Louis had sat with a flute of their counterfeit blood (spiked because Louis started early, okay), just barely out of _post,_ drooling at the sight of Styles _waltzing_ with his mother _._

(Who not even _Louis had waltzed with before._ Who Louis had never seen smile like that! Goddess above Louis swore if the Empress, and all her immortal beauty, stole his _solis_ he’d never awaken her again.)

When heat begins to spread high on his cheeks Louis focuses his attention elsewhere, catching sight of the buckets. Inspiration strikes him in another buzz of endorphins _._ He’s buzzing. Really, he is.

Chewing on his bottom lip to keep from snickering, he gathers the bucket in his arms, and makes it over to Harry, spilling the sloshing liquid as he goes. As he hefts the bucket, his boot–not slip resistant apparently– _slips,_ throwing his balance as the bucket drops.

As the ice water dowses Harry Styles, Louis sprawls out in his lap and the bucket clatters to the tile some feet away. Underneath him Harry jolts to consciousness, then hisses as the ghost assassin scrambles to sit up and avoid most of the cold. Sopping, with his waves flat at his jaw now, the vampire before him is washed out, confusion lurking in those scarily flat minty eyes.

As the water soaks the ends of his magical cloaks, the omega takes Harry’s disorientation in stride, as an opportunity, “Good waking, baby!” he exclaims brightly. “You’re just in time for sunset _!_ It’s about time! You’ve been asleep,” he glances down at the watch on his wrist that does not exist, “a century now! It’s year 5000! Welcome to the future!”

“What,” the slow, molasses-like drawl is hoarse and sleep-addled– having only been graced with the alpha’s voice once, the mere sound causes butterflies to flutter in Louis’ belly. Butterflies that have never once spread their wings before. Furious at his silliness, ballroom memories infect his mind–those bloody theaters Aiden had guilted him into attending _“you are an omega of worth, fledgling. It is your obligation,”_ which _sure_ it might be, but that’s not why Louis quit fussing over attending. The slightly pathetic truth is that on rare occasions the alpha before him had also attended, and though Louis was too young, nervous and flighty, to come into close contact, he had never been blind.

All those hideous, harlot omegas trailed the alpha always, moths to his untouchable flame. Occasionally there would be rumor that he was courting, but they never came to, and Louis always wondered _why not,_ but wasn’t about to complain; as Harry’s lack thereof interest meant less bodily fluid defiling his hands–Louis would execute any omega Styles dared pursue. No matter the lineage. No matter the emotion _._

Because his _eye-candy was_ – _is only meant for his eyes–_ unjust, perhaps, but Louis isn’t above trivial emotion. The hurricane in his lungs is pure, concentrated emotion encapsulated.

Now, Louis has _purpose._ And his purpose is to make sure Harry Styles is not there to carry out that hit in six months for those monsters to massacre him. Strong as Styles may be _,_ alone against a hoard of _ahmari_ and not well equipped, he stands no chance. Louis knows this, and will say it’s his returning the favor _._ He _hates_ being indebted, even if Styles does not know or remember it.

Returning to the present, out of habit Louis schools his expression into that of extreme horror, observing Harry’s expression cautiously–it’s blank, his mouth set, brows knitted and minty eyes intent and calculating. “You don’t remember me, d’you?” Louis asks around hitching breaths that should mark tears.

No response.

“I…It is me, your _solis._ We’ve been bonded forty-seven years,” Louis snickers inwardly at his own inside joke, “but when you fell out…I…I…went into mourning,” this would explain the veils, so the lie seems believable enough as the feeble hurt in his voice. “You truly don’t remember any of it? Anything ‘bout _us?_ ” He’s so very clever.

A vicious growl pierces the space between them as Harry Styles lurches forward, straining against his confines. Despite his blank expression those mint irises lose their gorgeous color, replaced with crimson as Harry bares his sharp, pearly fangs. My, are they _some fangs, how would those feel on my skin..._ A flush creeps down his throat the mere erotic thought.

Just like that Louis dissolves into delighted (nervous) peals of giggles, his cloaks soaking up more pooled water as he slides backwards enough to rest his head on the alpha’s knee, distanced so that he cannot lean forward and sink those fangs into his throat (sadly). At the idea of Harry Styles taking _his vein,_ Louis’ heart flutters _,_ and _skips skips skips too many beats;_ the vampirical omega that inherently shapes him whirs to life.

Stunned into more giggles, Louis tries to ignore how Harry’s rage climbs so high he’s become his own arctic circle, the air around their bodies magnetically charged with it. More effected than he’d like to admit, Louis’ giggles give, and he noses at the damp of his trousers to breathe into the material, “You’ve been asleep three days. I thought I might’ve been too harsh with the drugs and–,”

“Get. Away. From. Me,” Harry interrupts coldly.

Anticipating this, Louis sits up again, tucking his legs underneath his bum, the cloak fanning out around him as he tilts his head, the veils brushing his lips a little. “Not a very warm welcoming, Haz. After all I’ve gone through to _get my hands on you!”_ It hadn’t been easy, truly.

“Don’t call me that,” Harry Styles commands, then, quiet and calm, “Who are you?” As the words form those crimson eyes focus on the veils, shrewd and blazing with blood. Responding to this, shivers threaten to spiral down his spine, and his heart begins to run a marathon, desire the color of that gaze branding him like never before.

Clutching his composure, Louis giggles breathlessly, “I am wearing the veils for a reason, Einstein. See! Rats I say!”

“Who are you?” Collected. Unwavering. Attracted to this furious, lethal alpha, like he’s never been attracted to any other, his omega is roused from his previous latency, stunning him into silence as the need soars in his body, burning everything, toes to fingertips and _especially_ the little ball coiled tight in his belly showing in the hard length of his erection. 

Louis fidgets, the leather of his catsuit abruptly too tight as he squirms to make room, then stills when amusement flares in those dull depths. Like he can see what he’s doing to Louis’ traitorous omega body, with his bloody deep, scratchy drawl and his ridiculously sexy, chilling stare, and his intoxicating alpha scent…

 _Enough,_ he thinks, inhaling sharply.

Straightening, the omega improvises darkly, “ _Your worst nightmare.”_ And then bursts into fresh bubbles of laughter when Harry’s dark brow hitches. He looks so unimpressed that Louis sobers, sighing, “Oh, c’mon, Haz, that was so funny!””

“Where am I?”

“Ugh! Stop questioning me!” Louis whines in a horribly reedy voice, waving one dismissive hand, “I hate questioning! I’m the cop! You’re the criminal I’ve locked away!”

“Yes, that’s the absolute worst _._ Nothing compared to being drugged, coldcocked by only the Goddess know what, for the Goddess knows what reason and then having to tolerate the presence of a young _._ You’re not a cop, you’re a _coward.” Coward?_

Louis’ temper flares, fingers twitching where they rest on his thigh because he wants to reach for his dagger _bad._ Resisting, he whispers sweetly, “At least you get to be with me.” 

He wins as Harry’s temper flares up a bit _._ “I am going to kill you,” the alpha responds levelly, so resolute that Louis might believe him, were that even possible.

When Louis doesn’t want to be found, _he’s very good at it._ Instead, the omega giggles again, buzzing with an abrupt wave of delight, “Awe! You _love me!”_

 _“I am going to slit your little throat.” Little?_ Flashing those fangs again Harry lurches forward, nostrils flaring (no doubt trying to catch the scent of him–there isn’t one, the ghost assassin is always extremely cautious, using desensitizers as means to oppress and shroud his natural scent. Unfortunately, using these for twelve years has begun to deteriorate his natural scent downright, but Louis figures it’s the price one must pay to do what one of his stature does).

When Harry is once again halted by the shackles, still on with straining to break the hold, Louis dares to lean in, resting one, gloved hand on the tense bulge of his bicep, feeling the muscle, _the power,_ underneath his little fingers as another one of those sexily vicious growls rips from Harry’s chest. The muscles flex, ripple. “What is hate,” Louis breathes silkily, caressing with his fingertips unconsciously, “but another form of love?”

“I am going to make it so you beg the Goddess for death. I am going to take my time,” an explosion of crimson promises has lit his gaze, the same promises in the thick alpha timbre of his voice, “I will look upon you, and our eyes will lock as I bring my dagger–,” _blah blah blah,_ Louis becomes bored.

He doesn’t stifle his little yawn, but lets his hand fall to his side reluctantly as he rises to a graceful stance. “Seems we are not goin’ to progress much this morning–expected of course. I’m sure you will be in a better mood by the time I return at sunrise.” Unwilling to be distracted, Louis skips to the exit, punching the code as the sounds of Harry wrenching on the shackles disturbs the silence. The draft of his ire sends more inexperienced heat engulfing his veins, and his tummy pools so, so warm…

“Try not to get into much trouble whilst I’m away,” the omega calls teasingly over his shoulder as the unit’s door slides shut once more, snickering happily when Harry Styles’ only reaction is another one of those growls.

Such a gentleman, his alpha is. 

&&

               “I’ve returned! I’m _baaack!”_ Louis singsongs, hopping cheerfully through the entrance with a serving dish in both hands. “Miss me?”

Silent, the alpha straightens to the best of his ability–his wrists, Louis notes idly, are scalded, the raw flesh exposed though clotted–then bares those canines, those wild eyes tracking his every movement. Still adjusting to this _living arrangement,_ Louis stares blatantly at the wiry length of him, awed even now by how incredibly flawless he is. Frame toned and well-built without being bulky and brutish (the Goddess had _really done it right with Harry)._ And so it continues, he thinks when Harry’s expression smooths once more, obviously considering Louis a lesser threat.

It’s been two entirely trying weeks, and his impatience is brimming because it’s been _two trying weeks_ since the first morning, and Harry Styles refuses to eat anything he’s brought for him, refuses to _feed_ from the _Blooded_ (anyone even) and refuses to speak outside the rude, _“shut up,”_ or _“I’m going to slaughter you.”_

More than anything else this _routine_ bores him so Louis has decided it’s time to shift tactics.

As the bolts lock them in, the omega settles crisscross before the alpha, balancing the metal tray on his knees. From behind the veils, Louis _really_ examines Harry–his unruly mane is in much need of a washing, and his features are becoming starkly hallow with starvation, the bruises underneath his eyes marred with thin, inky veins; the burns from the steel at his wrists are an angry pink unable to heal as his immune systems deteriorating from the lack of sustenance. It’s slightly unsettling to watch day by day his body wasting away.

“Will you eat this morning?” the ghost assassin asks softly, removing his gloves to pluck a juicy green grape from the dish, lifting the veil enough to pop it into his mouth. Pale stare fixed on his hands, Harry says nothing, and he wonders what’s going through his thick skull as this is the very first time Louis’ revealed any skin; the omega wants to know if he’s questioning the atypical pigment of his skin, or if he is figuring Louis is merely as vampire as he…

So many questions, not the time to ask…

“Mmm,” Louis hums thoughtfully, chewing thoroughly then swallowing to mumble, “I see.” With an even nod he attempts to remain cool and collected as Styles, but as he reaches for his gloves, irritation surges through him and he tosses the dish, only listening to the metal clash with the wall derisively, edibles scattering. Fangs sharpening, Louis begins to shove his fingers into the gloves, to– “Leave them.”

Taken aback by the unexpected sound: raw, broken from the lack of use, the lack of _anything,_ the gloves slip from his hands as Louis lifts his head again, shyly. Slumped, Harry’s features are stoic as ever, but those eyes are menacingly steady on his now trembling hands.

“So he _speaks,_ ” the ghost assassin murmurs, relieved that his voice is light and breezy as desired. Again, no answer–just like that Louis’ delight takes a nosedive. Emotional imbalance of this sort has never worked out for him. “Will you answer me?” his voice disrupts the silence, thin and high as his fangs spring from his gums with intentions he does not yet harness.

“It upsets you,” Harry drawls languidly, “when I ignore you, does it not?” A lopsided, infuriatingly amused grin quirks one side of his mouth. It’s the most expression Louis has seen on Harry, and his heart _of course_ pulls another freak-show flutter in his chest.

“You’re hardly special,” Louis bites briskly. “Being ignored is annoying. I hate being ignored. By anyone. It’s quite obnox–,”

“You’ve made your point,” Harry interjects flatly, expression lost instantly. “I hate repeats.”

“Then you can imagine how I’ve felt these past couple weeks,” Louis responds sweetly, prompting an apology from the alpha responsible.

“Well, princess, I don’t really care.”

“You are horribly impolite,” Louis says pertly, holding his hand out to examine his well-cared-for nails, coated with fresh, glossy black polish. Gloves are quite charming at these times, can’t chip the polish that’d be quite disastrous, especially in–

A throaty, meltingly sexy sound breaks his reverie– _laughter._ Harry Styles is _blatantly laughing at him._ As soon as Louis looks up again the sound stops, and it’s like he hadn’t been laughing at all. All vacant and bare of person _._ “Are you bipolar?” he wonders out loud, curiously tilting his head.

Not one blink. “Hardly. I am annoyed.” _Would’ve never guessed so._

“By whom?” he demands, brows furrowed as his fingers inch below the cloak towards the blade fastened to his hip. “Was it the guards? I’ll destroy them.”

“No,” the alpha snaps as his gaze leaves his hand to focus on the veils concealing Louis’ face. Now the shields do nothing to reassure him as the anxiety that somehow this vampire’s managed to see through looms–this icy alarm becomes relentless when the intensity of those brilliant mint colored eyes imprison him. He’s only experienced such a sensation once before, many years ago; it slithers and sneaks through the layers of cloak, through the elastic leather of his catsuit, and into his skin, burrowing into his bones to turn his marrow into an ever-icy slush. “Who is annoying me sits before me, and who annoys me is mine to dispose of.” He's never been one for riddles, but he will let Styles pass because, well...

Each word is a staccato that resonates with fatal promises–each word spirals heat _, blessed heat,_ and so _into this,_ his skin feels hypersensitive beneath his catsuit. Finally awakening and thrumming with life _,_ humming with feelings so penetrating it’s indecent– _this must be desire,_ pooling low in his belly, preventing him from believing how much _want_ he feels from the _threat. Goddess above Louis’ body is on some bullshit._

“So long as I am yours,” the breath tumbles past his lips without permission–seeds that need to be dug from Harry’s bed of soil before his body flowers _._

The excitement that bursts in those brilliant eyes causes his mouth to part. Every breath comes in quick, short successions.

“Does it scare you to know that once I am free–and the time will come–I will not rest until I’ve bathed in your blood?” _It should. It doesn’t._

Squeezing his thighs together, Louis struggles to breathe, to _think._ The hazard Harry poses is palpable to his vampire though, instinct at its finest. In nanoseconds Louis’ removed the blade at his hip and straddled Harry’s thighs. Before the vampire can reaction, he hooks his fingers in the thick, disheveled waves, yanking backwards and clutching so Harry’s head is tilted, and the sharp point of his blade nudges his thick throat. “I fear nothing. I have _everything,”_ it’s his softest voice. Twining one curl in his index finger, and applying more pressure to the knife, “Fear is an emotion applied to those of weaker standing. Me?” He giggles, inclined so the veil almost brushes Harry’s face. So, so _fit,_ Louis thinks dazedly, staring at Harry who stares at him–the veils–with those gemlike eyes, mouth curled back to expose those razor fangs. “I eat little alpha pricks like yours for breakfast.”

Oh, but the look on Styles’ face is _priceless_ –miraculously Louis has managed to _shock him,_ bewilderment shifting his features though it’s vanished too soon as Louis trembles with the trills of his snickers. As he does the omega leans into the solidity of him, alertly clenching the blade as he cuddles against him. Pleased, undeniably safe and protected here despite the reality, his omega purr soft and flirty. “You want me?” Louis breathes curiously, his fangs toying with Harry’s skin, scraping playfully. He almost doesn’t notice the tremor this earns him it’s so very low-key. Victorious, and elated _,_ Louis squeals, _“You want me!”_

“Alpha’s aren’t my type.” It’s defensive, and pissed off.

Louis smiles, dragging the blade down the slight ridges of his throat, then up once more. “Lucky thing I’m no alpha then, yes?”

A growl reaches his ears as the alpha’s temper ignites. “ _Betas either.”_

“ _Mmm,”_ the small assassin hums, then giggles at his inside knowledge, “A pity, tis.” Despite his body’s reluctance, Louis slides back onto the cold, hard tile, taking his blade back only when it’s safe to do so, clasping it to his hip again. Springing to his feet Louis regards the scattered mess of edibles, sucking his teeth and shaking his head. “You’ve wasted food, again.”

Though it’s predictable, the countering silence prods at him as Louis’ gaze rests raptly on Harry again–securely shackled, starving on his own accord, and unmoved even in the mental sense.

“Alas I have other pressing matters to see to,” he claims honestly–an assignment with an appointment with death. Once he’s retrieved his gloves, Louis places his hands on either of his hips to sigh, “I will inform the guards of the mess you’ve made. They will see to it–cleaning, though I _belong_ in a maid’s outfit, is simply not my forte.”

Punching in the code, Louis pauses at the now open exit, then giggles and blows one kiss to his alpha. “Until next time, Haz!”

                                                                      

&&

Time has abandoned him–its only hints are the bodily effects, though scantly felt as his senses have ebbed perilously with starvation. While the pain comes and goes in strange tides, time grinds on without pause. It prods and pokes at the weediest dwellings within him, this loss of time, this loss of _purpose._ Trapped in this Hell, Harry is only at war with himself.

A welcomed distraction the pain preserves his conscious thoughts…but that’s debatable as three days prior to one month in captivity the blood hunger at last arrives. _Blood hunger:_ a thousand pitchforks puncturing his veins, third degree burns branding his throat, his internal organs.  Often his heart will falter, and Harry will heave _._

A constant, this remains, the Goddess punishing him. It does change however _:_ an acidic inferno eating at him, then icy hooks tearing at the cords and strands of his being. At this point his fangs refuse to retract into his gums, and flames dance an erotic rhythm behind his eyes. He’s lost the strength to even lift his head. It’s a slippery slope that’s led him to _vampiric-death._

Taunting him with his forthcoming demise is what his useless existence has become. Watching through heavy lids the hooded figure pacing before him, glancing every few seconds like he’s frightened Harry’s Passed mere feet from him. _How touching._

Attempts at _force feeding_ had been the most fun he’s had in weeks _._

A blade slicing shallowly at the skin of his throat, gloved fingers pinching his nose, cutting his airways as Harry’s mouth might as well been stitched shut (his will must prevail over his biology) until darkness crowded his vision. A _permanent_ darkness, the kind that _stuck._

All attempts seemed to drain his captor more than it ever did Harry, until the small vampire (once he mentioned his bloodlust, seeming to recognize the concentrated agony of such suffering, Harry decided the creature was indeed, despite the sunny skin of his hands, one of his own) carved at his collarbones in “punishment” then shoved away, sniveling–like he might be crying _–_ to the exit with his cloaks being the last of him.

Alone, as he has always been, burnt out, broken-and-entered, only then does the reality of his being come to. He will die alone, whether it be today, tomorrow, or the next century. There will be nobody, nothing to miss, and nobody, nothing, _to miss him._

He would simply be one less warrior, even as the next Executioner. His _story,_ and life’s work _,_ would be scribed into the primeval, dusty records of warriors, like his sire before him.

He’s bled out for his people _,_ and it’ll all be for nothing.

All he can do is close his eyes and take it all in _._ To say it’s pitiful is an understatement.

He’s only able to regain control of his respiratory system _after_ his mental meltdown _._ Good thing too, as unannounced the locks to his holdings retract, the entrance gliding open. Just in time.

Knowing who it is–his only visitor _–_ the alpha can’t be bothered to try and lift his head as it just lolls against his arm, opting to use his eyes instead. Of course, the cloaked figure appears–Harry hasn’t missed him yet.

Something has changed. On this visit the vampire is not bearing edibles, but an unidentifiable item.

More surprises. Another rescue mission to fail miserably.

Wordless for once in his forsaken little life the vampire enters, this time not bothering to wait on the door to shut again as he kneels before him. “I’d thought,” that _annoyingly thin_ voice begins, unzipping his foreign gear, “I wouldn’t have to stoop to such _low_ s, but I realize now–,”

Alert, his alpha roars to life, and what blood is left in his system hurries to his heart. “ _Wh-at,”_ Harry shuts him up hoarsely, scrutinizing the vampire who simply removes his gloves to reveal delicate, thin fingers, the nails polished red neatly, _“d’you think you’re doing?”_ There is no response as those graceful digits take a small glass vial from the supply, getting rid of the red rubber seal, then setting it down to take two hypodermic syringes from their sterile packs.

Realization comes over him in an adrenal rush–seems for the moment he’s not quite out of commission yet. “Don’t you _dare,”_ Harry snarls with an alpha’s rage, jacking his heavy head up and ignoring the vertigo to bare his incisors.

“You give me no choice,” the vampire whispers from behind his veils–Harry _wills_ the thick lace material to catch fire. “You won’t feed, or eat…or…You’re dying.” Tension bows between them as the little one hisses, _“_ You are not permitted to die _._ ”

“Everybody dies _,”_ the alpha rasps, tongue like sandpaper in his dry mouth as bloodlust stirs in his gut, his lungs, everywhere. Without his awareness, he’s heaving against the shackles, compelling the ghost behind the veils to submit _,_ “I will take only from you.”

“Not happening” the sad, weary note in that voice would surprise him, but his instincts are prevailing this time. As the needle pierces the foil of the vial, the alpha is transfixed. Clear liquid fills the syringe to its capacity. Both are prepared the same. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t…” A shaky breath before his captor shakes his head, flicking one needle to test the liquid which drips.

“Do not,” he snarls as an alpha, “drug me, beta.”

“ _Do not,”_ the little growl is weakly feral as the needle pierces his thigh; the sharp steel sizzles and dissolves his flesh, hardly noticed with the sensation of the drug being plunged, _“use that tone with me, H.”_

Lurching towards the little bastard Harry growls when he’s halted by the bloody shackles and the needle is yanked free. In the same motion, the figure swings around and the second needle catches in his throat. The sensation of the morphine (what he assumes the drug to be) injected straight into his jugular triggers a roar from deep in his throat, the sound of his rage reverberating on the four, compact walls.

In this fit, the chains squeal, and he heaves with all the strength he possesses. He can smell his flesh burning, and he can feel his vocal cords straining. The small vampire to blame scrambles away as the sounds vibrate everywhere.

With a last surge of energy, the shackles break _,_ his arm is freed and the next follows seconds behind. Above the lights flicker in and out until blowing, leaving them in pitch black though his hands have already taken hold of the shackles bound to his ankles, ripping them from the walls. Even with his debilitated vision the point of his fury is _crystal clear;_ the Goddess raining Her light for him to take his vengeance before meeting Her in Passing. Lunging, the alpha tackles him to the ground, the needle in his throat clanking though the only sound his ears know is a tiny startled gasp.

Bloodlust batters his stressed ribcage, and instinctively his head reels back, prepared to strike for the throat pumping with all the life, the blood he needs _,_ to suck the small figure beneath him dry _,_ but his power fails him.

Elastic stretched too far, it snaps back to its original shape with the drugs reinforcement. Deadweight, Harry slumps, crushing the small weak thing beneath him, hearing his heartbeat _slow slow slow_ behind his ears while the one his ear is pressed to, where his head rests, is the strike of lightening. He only breathes rough, furious intakes through his nose as the numb concaves his chest.

Beneath him the vampire lifts trembling, dainty hands so the tips of his fingers stroke Harry’s cheekbone, then the line of his nose. Reacting to the abrupt warmth, the alpha shudders, and though he aims for movement, wanting to use his fangs as messengers to express how this touch maddens him, the drugs already taken its matchless effect.

Around him the room fades in and out of focus until the vampire is shoving at his chest, struggling against his weight. Sadly, Harry doesn’t crush him _._ Somehow, he manages to get him on his back.

There, the cloaked figure kneels beside him, smoothing his wild hair from his face. Harry stares at the sinking ceiling vacantly, defeated. He has been bested. “Forgive me. I can’t just let you die _._ That is the whole _point of this,”_ his voice is so soft, a faraway dreamland. His stare shifts. “Hi.” A little wave, then a sorry sigh. “You’re not an assignment to me, Haz. Don’t be angry. Don’t look at me like that. If I disappeared again I know you’d wonder why _._ ” _Would he?_

Slow, even nodding off like this, the alpha conjures an image of _blue-eyes._ Thinks of the _Baby Blue_ omega from all those decades ago. He wishes someone had taught him to love. He would have liked to love _blue-eyes._ “What’re you smiling about?”

“ _Blue-eyes,”_ is what he means to say, but it only sounds like garbled growls. By now Harry can’t even hold onto the thoughts as the ties that connect his mind to the skin homing whatever soul he’s salvaged give up.

A tiny wicked giggle, “You like blue _,_ do you? Figures.” What he’s going on about Harry doesn’t know. “You’re so strong and domineering. ‘M really going to need better restraints. We can’t have _this_ happening ag…” there he goes again. He tries to listen. He truly does. He is. Too soon he’s stolen by sleep.

 _“Ghost…”_ A monotonous voice.

 _“…going to die…now!”_ A high, peculiarly melodious voice is one recognizable to him even under the weight of the Passing’s despair.

 _“Don’t you dare touch him! I well tear your intestines out and wear them as a scarf for centuries to come!”_ the words strike fast, and he wishes he could comprehend them. _“Touch him, and kiss your golden arse goodbye.”_ There’s an angel with him, of this he’s sure. An angel is speaking, has come to guide him safely unto his Passing.

 _“You can’t…! He’s…responsibility…little crush…Louis!”_ A different voice shouts _._ Louis…Louis… _Louis? Where had he heard this name before…? Louis. Louis, the Empresses fledgling. Said to be an incandescent beauty of the vymia, though Harry can’t recall ever seeing for himself as he’s mated to...Grimshaw. The nasty bastard._ Like weeds Harry’s thoughts just keep coming back to multiply senselessly until the voices breach his lockdown. In an abrupt rush his senses return, but his body still is not on track, unable to follow his orders. Something warm and kind brushes his forehead, then the angel says to him sweetly, _“Please drink…”_

And that’s exactly when the first drop lands on his tongue– _blood._ All the twisted wires that have become his nerves spark with extraordinary voltage as his entire body jerks, and his mouth latches onto the source of his need. It’s delicious; thick and warm and flooding his mouth. He acts greedily, swallowing mouthful after mouthful.

“Goddess, you were _starving,_ weren’t you, baby?” that voice is the only sound that matters as his strength builds, igniting his insides. As the alpha is revived, his senses gather _,_ and he’s vividly aware when something heartfelt and forgiving strokes his throat–this sensation is one he’s unacquainted with. It’s the reaction that really does it: an animal’s instinct reels through him, and his cock needs no more convincing, hard and thick trapped in his trousers. _Taking, taking, taking_ from what is his to take.

Noise rips from his chest up to his throat–breathless giggles mingle with them, then warm breaths fan out on his jaw as that muffled voice whispers, “ _Whoa, calm down, big boy._ You’re not mating this time.” _Damn, that voice._

Against the material of his trousers his cock is so hard his heartbeat drums through the bulging length, saying otherwise _._ Yeah, the owner of the beautiful voice is going to be caught on his knot as soon as he’s finished with his vein. Like this Harry imagines this, filling the gaps and blanks; imagines pitchy pants and moans and words, imagines sunny skin damp with sweat and slick, a little bruised and bloody, imagines vivid sapphire eyes staring back at him, imagines cloaks pooling around them and–

With a fierce growl, he hitches his hips, wondering where the hell the small body is because Harry is more than ready to mate as he swallows another rush of blood.

_“Ghost…he’s draining him…”_

“I don’t care,” the angels voice is a silky purr, one Harry wants to feel on his skin. “He’s been _starving._ Let him feed. He needs this.”

 _“You have permission to remove yourself, Blooded. You’ve tended to him enough.”_ With those nasty words, the source attempts to abscond, but his vampire is not yet finished with him, and his hands raid fast, taking hold of the punctured arm with his resurrected strength.

“Haz,” soft against the line of his jaw. “C’mon, let her go.” Urgency shimmers to life as Harry’s eyes open, the instinct to claim–

What stands before him is not anything his imagination made it out to be. 

Vision bleary, Harry can make out only figures, looming over him and his mouth ceases immediately as his grip tightens until the bone beneath is crushed. Screams pierce his space, and his vampire rejoices with a conquering vengeance.

“Harry,” that voice, that _fucking voice_ giggles _, so delighted its immoral._ “Stop it! You can’t kill the Blooded _! You’ll–,”_

Goddess be _damned._ He’s through listening, assessing the scene as threats to the owner of the voice his vampire is so obsessed with surface. Driven, the alpha surges forward, yanking the shattered arm so the figure sprawls out on the floor, screaming and thrashing wildly.

Out of habit his hand goes to his chest in search of his dagger. When he comes up empty someone drapes over his back. In that moment, there is nothing but sensation _,_ little breaths frantic in his ear as fingers comb through his wayward, wilted hair.

Without warning, something sharp penetrates the skin of his throat, liquid rushing into his jugular as Harry snarls again. _“Shh,”_ it’s a _hush_ he’s heard before. He collapses. “You don’t need to protect me. Just let it happen.”

Weightless, unable to believe this has happened, Harry simply shuts down _,_ welcoming his _new-night_.

&&

Just as the sun begins its ascent, Louis _traces_ to the dreary Gothic manor of the Clans–the Elders have been _very_ secretive of its location on the fringes of England’s countryside. Underground, the Emperor's rest as Johanna reigns, but the Empresses time to rest is forthcoming, and the next to the throne, Viktor, shall arise this very century. The constant of the vampire Liege is those of royal prestige. Louis being the lone heir of the Empress is claimed to belong here _._

He does not.

Looking now, Louis’ prison seems something straight from those human horror films, all gargoyles, shadows, and leaded-glass windows. In front of the mountain of stone there is a courtyard teeming with sleek, posh vehicles, as well as a gatehouse that is the Politicians sector. A forty-foot wall encases the compound along with a double gated entry and several surprises set up to…deter (and if need be, execute) unwanted visitors.

Beams of sunlight shroud the Earth as Louis hurries over the central house’s steel-cored doors, shoving both open in attempts to escape without becoming an ashtray (yeah right). In the vestibule, he enters the code on the entrance keypad, granted immediate access to emerge in the foyer.

The soaring space with its jewel-toned colors and its gold leafing and its wild mosaic floor does nothing to gain his attention as Louis storms past the grand staircase and through the lounge where vampires of related stature associate, perched around tables covered in blood red cloths, and pillars. These lot are dressed in riches, the omegas in gowns (the dark colors working to pronounce their fair complexions) holding cigarettes between their thin delicate fingers, their bright red lipstick staining the flutes of synthetic blood they’re sipping on. Entertaining them the alphas match their design in black overcoats and trousers and _everything._ Pale, nearly colorless gazes follow him.

Around these vampires, Louis’ differences flare like the sun they’ve never truly seen–his catsuit is improper by all means of the Clans, much too tight, hugging his curves so his figure stands out–petite with more curves than any female in attendance (the vampire species are beanpoles–tall, skyscraper _tall_ and thin to the point of human malnourishment). The tone of his skin is considered abnormal though to the human world he’s considered _tan,_ the color of his eyes vivid in comparison to the pale of his people. 

Without offering even a glance _,_ the omega stalks across the lounge to the double doors where the corridors lead into the East wing of the grand manor. Unable to stand _human speed,_ Louis blurs down the corridors, boots merely scuffing the black marble floors as a certain warrior plagues his mind. Louis sees an extremely furious alpha _,_ wild and seeking spilt blood. Louis sees a warrior _,_ the strength and power of the vampire species. Louis sees an animalistic, possessive male, sexual, seeking _more_ blood. 

As his breathing hitches the images flash, vividly real–the length of Harry’s frame, waves curling at his shoulders, _feeding._ Some foreign flush spreads over his skin as the omega envisions the sure, skillful strike of Harry’s fangs, envisions how the drags of taking would feel and then how he would drag _him_ into his lap and take him _that way too._

_Oh, good Goddess above…_

Even the most sheltered omegas of the _vymia_ know what happens when an alpha of the warrior class feeds: mating _._ Last night Louis had witnessed this firsthand, witnessed pure _craving,_ listened to the demanding growls of possession _,_ looking upon the intensity of such an intimacy, glimpsed the bulging of the alpha’s trousers…

Shivering, he wonders _who_ occupied Harry’s thoughts in those moments, who the source of such _need–_

“Louis!” an outraged shout startles him from his foolish fantasizing. Knowing this voice Louis does not stop, determined to reach his Mother before–

A rough hand grips his upper arm, bringing him to an abrupt standstill. A snarl, nowhere near as forceful as Harry’s, echoes through the corridor. “Where have you been?”

Unimpressed, Louis focuses on the one who dares to question him: Aiden Grimshaw. Crowding him as he always does _,_ the alphas pale features are tense with anger, irises _blooded_ staring at him now, fangs elongated. _Baby fangs,_ he thinks, “Release me,” he says.

“ _Answer me,”_ the possessive tone the bureaucratic alpha takes with him lights a firestorm of fury in his chest as tension latches onto his shoulders. Since his birth Grimshaw has set his sights on him, and no matter how Louis disobeys and denounces the ancient old timer Grimshaw has convinced himself they are _meant._ Louis simply wants to feed him his balls.

“Very well,” the omega manages to remain brusque even this disgusted. “I was _out_.”

“I will _not,_ ” the grip on his arm tightens to the point of bruising. Louis doesn’t dare flinch, and certainly doesn’t wince, “be spoken to as such, _omega.”_

Wrenching his arm away, Louis starts towards the great double doors leading to his Mother’s chambers. Grimshaw growls over his cutting remark, “Where I go and what I do there does not concern you, Aiden.”

“This is completely _unacceptable,”_ the alpha bites tightly, attempting to grab him again. Sensing this, Louis whirls around, and bares his fangs as his eyes flare with hatred. Grimshaw is stupid enough to believe he will win this battle. “You go against my orders and spend the night away from the shelter of the manor with another of your little _pets?_ ” Vicious shouts are blasted into his face. “And then you _dare_ to take our _blooded to him?_ You _dare_ return the defiled _blooded to my house?”_

Hitching one artful brow Louis says icily, “As far as I’m concerned this is still the Elders’ house.” Grimshaw snarls, upper lip curling to reveal his fangs, then stalks towards him. Motionless, Louis swallow’s bile to lift his chin. They are so close, their noses brush. “Listen I have better things to do than argue,” he sighs over this entire _courting_ tradition, he’s already denied Aiden’s advances. There isn’t more he can do but ignore and acquiesce the old bastard. “I want you to understand I hold no _pets._ I am an omega of extreme _worth,_ I am _heir to the throne,_ and expect to be treated as such.”

“Yet you _stink_ of alpha,” the other sneers, pressing closer until Louis is baring his fangs. “A defiled little _whore._ ” 

“My _whereabouts_ should not be _questioned._ It is no business of yours who I lay with. I will say it once, it won’t ever be _you,”_ Louis growls, malice sharp in his voice. “ _Ever, Aiden._ So get over your bruised pride and be _reasonable.”_

“Your _whereabouts_ are _ever at question as you’re sneaking about at all hours of the day and returning when the sun should see you damned!_ Who you associate with, who you _lay with, is my business because the Clans know we are to be mated.”_

 _“_ We are not!” Louis cries wildly. “I have refused your attentions. I continue to refuse you! Let the alphas of the _vymia,_ the warriors, our Emperors find out you threaten me, I shall see you set to the sun!”

“Let the _vymia_ find out you are ruined _._ Tarnished. The scent of _alpha clings to you.”_

Desperation colors his face. “That means nothing!”

“Let’s see what you _marema_ thinks of this,” Grimshaw growls, and Louis wishes so badly he were armed, wishes he were somewhere else, wishes he was ghost. Because he _loathes_ Grimshaw, _he loathes being locked away,_ and he _loathes_ being unable to defend himself.

Aiden wrenches him down the hall by the arm, motions to the guards behind the one-way mirror until the opposite wall parts and he’s hauled into the middle of the primeval underground colonnade. Under the force, Louis nearly falls, but catches his footing seconds sooner. Before he can claw Grimshaw’s pale, covetous eyes out, the Queens voice rings raucous and unrivaled, “Aiden, I wish to be alone with my son. _Leave us.”_

Ugly promises lurk in the alpha’s pale stare as he bows to Louis’ mother, then turns on his heels to shut the ostentatious door behind him. Silenced, Louis kneels, bowing his head before rising to his feet again. In her throne, the Queen’s robbing is the richest crimson, her light thin hair fanning out over her shoulders, pale blue eyes assessing him flatly. “Greet me, my fledgling.”

Louis _traces_ before his Mother’s throne, lowered onto one knee to kiss the signet ruby ring adorning her withered index finger. “ _Marema.”_ It’s been so long since Louis has been summoned to his Mother’s presence, left to the Clans’ control… _Grimshaws._

“You may rise, fledgling _._ ”

Reverent, the omega does so, standing before his Mother’s bleached, archaic gaze. Like this Louis is almost uncomfortable, alert and alarmed. Mother’s sunken eyes possess an arcane supremacy, sharp with intelligence, astute and unnerving. Except steady on him now slivers of emotion soften those cold eyes.

“I have been lost without you, _marema._ Constantly hounded by Aiden and his never-ending infatuation…” he breathes unevenly.

The Queen’s answering laugh is glass shattering: sharp, brief, and sudden, crashing to an abrupt halt. “’Tis but the oldest fable in the book; the alpha desires the one thing the alpha cannot have.” Another of those laughs. “Heretofore you have been otherwise entertained, have you not, my young?” When Louis opens his mouth to respond, his Mother holds up one waxy grayed palm, effectively shutting him up.

“Your negligence has been brought to my attention,” the Queen continues to state tonelessly. “Have you deemed the Covenant below your eminence, fledgling?”

As the blood drains from his face, Louis whispers, “Nay, _marema, I–,”_

“Then _why have you disobeyed us?”_ Under the malic in his Mother’s voice, Louis shrinks, small and insignificant as humiliation threatens to cripple him. “Your loyalty to the Clans has been _disproven._ Associated with _ahmari!_ You have _proven yourself a mockery!_ What reason have you to explain such behavior?” Right now, Louis realizes he is not her son _,_ he is her _enemy._

“I believe the Covens are in danger, Empress,” Louis claims, lifting his head to meet the astute stare of his Mother in hopes the sincerity in his voice mirrors that of his eerie eyes. “The _ahmari_ are _preparing!_ I’ve seen them! In _hoards!_ I’ve…I have seen them prepare ultraviolet artillery and they are mapping out the Covens! The true enemy is at its strongest, _marema,_ and the Clans are at our weakest. Our warriors greatly _outnumbered,_ being offed one by one each new-night! Our forthcoming Executioner vanished! The disposition has been put out, and once the Clans are found our very species will be wiped out.”

As his Mother’s stare flattens, dispassionate as bullets, Louis quiets, willing the Empress to _believe him._ “Tell me,” she starts when the silence has stretched, “why have you come to believe the enemy has developed the intellectual means to locate and execute the Clans?”

Louis swallows, hard. Then, in an uneven voice, “I have witnessed their intentions, _marema,_ you must believe me. Does my word hold no more justification than that of a shifter now?”

“You should not have left our sanction! You know your place! Dearest Goddess, you have been led astray, my child. Your word will be taken no more seriously than that of the enemy. Present me with evidence.”

“I have…none,” Louis murmurs, bowing his head in disgrace. Still undefeated. “Please, _marema_ , give me a chance to get the proof you require.”

“I will leave it to Grimshaw to collect the proof,” his mother’s detached voice announces. “If there be any.” Greif rifles through the dingiest parts of his mind; raw pressure suffocating him as Louis reflexively raises his face.

“How could you trust him over me?” the vulnerability in his voice intensifies the pressure so much so that it is hard to breathe _,_ snaking between his ribs and around his frantic lungs.

“Because he is not the one who has been disloyal to our people,” the cold bite turns his blood to ice. “ _I love you…_ You are my only young, but you…you leave me with no choice.” Louis struggles against the mortifying moisture gathering in his unblinking stare, staining it with crimson. “Our allegiance, our _security_ stands with the reliability of our Clans. You are unsuited for the rage of war, fledgling. You have broken the very Covenant this species survives through. You will not be shown an ounce of leniency. I shall stay unrested upon Viktor’s awakening, then the Clans will convene and decide your fate.”

Powerless to the physiological response, Louis lowers his face, and his Mother’s voice climbs cuttingly, “You have _betrayed us! The heir to my throne has associated with that of the enemy! The Covenant was tried! You must be judged!”_

Weak, so repulsively weak _,_ Louis stands before the Empresses ruling, and one warm ugly blooded tear tumbles down his cheek though he is soundless. “Bid me farewell, fledgling. Grimshaw shall retrieve you now.” 

Wordless, throat clogged with grief, the omega kneels, hearing the entrance breeze open before standing to face his spectators. “Empress,” Grimshaw murmurs, kneeling with his entourage of offended-faced politicians. “Leave me, servants. See that my son is taken to his bedchamber and _stays there._ ”

“As you wish, Empress,” Grimshaw nods, stands and signals to the guards who stalk forward and grip each of his arms in their meaty hands. Surrounded, Louis is led out; Grimshaw in the lead–he’s taken through the lounge where the vampires rise, and their malicious stares follow them up the grand staircase. He can see one word in all pairs of pale eyes: _traitor._

Unmoved, Louis’ blind gaze remains forward until he’s shown into his room. There, Grimshaw steps inside, ordering to the others, “Leave us.”

Louis stands straight, indistinct and definite as the room is emptied, the doors shut. Alone, Grimshaw’s fixed stare stays on his emotionless face. “You should have listened to me, and stayed out of this,” the alpha murmurs so smug Louis just barely resists the urge to cut his tongue out. “Now you will be lucky if I’m able to convince the Clans to spare your life.”

Louis purses his lips. “I would rather die than see _you_ permitted to the Clans.”

Fury flares in the shallow pale of Grimshaw’s gaze. As the vampire stalks forwards, Louis matches his steps but backwards _,_ towards the armory of his wardrobe. With every step, the strings of violence stretch between them. “Remember your place, omega.”

“My _place,_ ” he hisses, flashing his fangs, “is _nowhere_ with you, _valkryn_.” Trained on his wardrobe, Louis underestimates the alpha’s intentions, but than a heavy palm comes at his face from the left. The blow is forceful enough that his balance is thrown, but before he can fall Grimshaw snatches a chunk of his hair. Unable to believe the alpha would _dare,_ Louis does nothing to defend even as his paw arches his body. “You little bitch _,_ ” the male barks, dank breath assaulting his senses. “I am _through_ with your games _._ We are to be mated whether you wish it or not. And when it is through I am going to make you _wish_ for death, I am going to force you to–,”

“Get. Out.”

Sneering the alpha tightens his grip. Needles of pain stab at his skin as Grimshaw closes the minimal distance so his mouth is on Louis’, wet and violating. Clutching his composure, Louis thrashes against the invasive restrains, piercing the bottom lip of his defiler with his fangs. Snarling, the bastard shoves him, then Louis is backhanded with enough force that his head swims and he crumbles to the carpet. _“Get out!”_ he hisses, curling up into this small, pitiful ball of shame _, omega_ and vampire clashing ever at odds. “Get out! Leave me!”

Guards burst through the entrance, and Grimshaw barks, _“Leave us!”_

“Nay!” he shouts, baring his bloodied face to show what has been done to him. “Get him away from me! I demand my privacy! I will see you all set to the sun if I am not left to myself!”

 _“_ Leave us, I say.”

Predictably the alphas word prevails. Dread curdles in his stomach when the guards retreat, his bedroom door shutting derisively behind them. Disgusted with his own powerless omega stature, Louis gags on the bile threatening to overcome him. A boot catches him in the side, and the strength put into the knockback causes him to hold his breath against the pain as Aiden sighs and kneels beside him, “You always have been such a pesky little bitch. Too stubborn. I reckon I shall have to break you.”

Collecting the foul taste of Aiden and his blood in his mouth, Louis spits so it spews over Aiden’s ugly face. _“You disgust me.”_

A cruel, amused chuckle comes from deep in his chest as his hands come up to wipe the liquid painting his face, licking it from his stubby fingers. “You are _delicious._ I cannot wait to have you, to break you.”

“Get away from me,” Louis breathes hollowly, withholding his eyes as blooded tears threaten to submerge them–he would _die a cruel, drawn out death_ before he allowed Grimshaw the gratification of his tears. Long ago he vowed to never give light to such flaw in the presence of this alpha again. “Leave me, I…I wish…I wish to be alone.”

“We would be so…magnificent,” Grimshaw murmurs, that timbre breaching Louis’ eardrums as he rises to his feet. “You’d be beautiful by my side. You shall be. Your fate is now _mine_ to decide. You will accept my advances, and we shall be mated. Imagine our union.” As the door creeps open the snake slithers out with one last taunt, “Think of it– _us._ ”

 _There will never be an “us”,_ Louis wants to spit, _I should slice my own throat before I accepted you as a mate._

Except the conviction is sapped from the thought.

All at once, tremendous emotion boils in his belly, and as it expands the pressure grows, spreading and seeping past his fragile skin. Wildly, Louis looks around, the electric blue has discharged from his skin causing the shelves to begin to rattle and the laptop over in the corner to bounce on the desk, the splendid chandelier overhead to shudder, and his entire body to tremble with the room as something _beyond him, within him, battles to get out out out._

“No,” Louis chokes on frantic breaths, scrambling upright. “Nay. Goddess… _Stop it. No more!”_

Desperate not to explode from the inside out, he looks down at his hands. They are shaking wildly, like the wings of ancient dragons, the skin florescent blue _._ It’s when Louis stares at them that he hits rock bottom.

A scream peals out of him, the sound utterly foreign, shrilly and disturbed. With his knees to his chest, arms tight and constricting to hold it _in,_ Louis is aware that he is breaking mentally _,_ that the fissure has been tapped by that violation and now he’s so splintered _._

In fact, he feels as though there are two of him in the room: the mad one that is lit up like a lightbulb on the carpet crying blood tears, and a calm, sane one in the corner, watching himself.

Will the two parts of him cleave together again? In that moment, he can’t tell.

His mind chooses the observer persona over the hysterical one. He retreats into that soundless space where he witnesses himself sob to the point of asphyxiation. The streaks of blood that run down his paper white cheeks doesn’t disgust him, nor does the crazy wild electric eyes or epileptic thrashing of his arms and legs. A body glowing with an electrical error.

He simply feels sorry, so sorry, for the omega who has been driven to such straits; who has kept himself apart from all trauma. The omega who has done evil and has had evil done to him. The omega who hardened himself, his mind and emotions steely.

The omega who had been _wrong_ about locking down, self-containment. It is not a case of strength, as he had always thought.

It is strictly survival…and he simply cannot keep it up any longer.

&&

Louis waits and waits and waits what feels like an eternity before the new nights risen. It’s once the steel shutters have lifted from the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that he peers out; below at least a hundred guards roam, leading the watch dogs about the premises. Likewise, the moonlight peers through the thick clouds as his skin crawls with the stifling compression of quarantine _._

With one hand flat on the glass, Louis wonders whether Harry’s woken or not. Wonders whether the warrior will miss him today. A faint smile toys with the corners of his mouth; _definitely not._ At least he’s alive. Truly Harry should be _groveling at his feet for his charity._

Of course, a warrior would never grovel–which Louis respects but–

It happens without warning–howls erupt in the near distance, and the manor’s power trips. A flicker _,_ then lights out. Announcing this the alarm trills, and Louis glances out the glass to watch the guards blur towards the gates, the dogs lagging far behind.

He doesn’t think hard or long: the figure responsible lands on the edge of his balcony. Beneath the cloak, a familiar face grins wickedly. Without returning the expression, he races to his wardrobe to armor his hips, thighs, calves and wrists with weapons, going Ghost in mere seconds.

A blur against gravity, he doesn’t have the time to consider what this means for his future, simply snatches the keys to his Porsche, cloaking his figure (the leather drapes his shoulders down to his calves fastened at his throat) before unlatching the locks to the sliding glass.

Outside the snow comes in heavy wet flakes. Leaping onto the edge, crouched, Louis glances at Zayn, then swallows as the vampire blankly analyses him. “How?”

Shrugging, the vampire stands, shoots the moon an intense look (when doesn’t Z look brooding and intense?), then, “You forget who I am.” A politician’s heir, the truce between the lycan’s and the vampires, the Peacekeeper born intended for lycan mating. It’s so very thorny, such armistice as the two are natural born enemies with only one cause of joining together: _ahmari._ As for Zayn, it’s love.

Otherwise, all Louis knows is the _vymia_ regards the misunderstood vampire who could not choose what was meant for him _,_ as socially castrated, an outcast of the worst kind. Remembering this is what makes up Louis’ mind.

“You could have been killed,” Louis reprimands, breath fanning out in white, cloudy wisps as snow soaks his cloak until his hair lays flat in his eyes.

“Would’ve been a long time coming,” the other shrugs before stepping off the fifty feet tall ledge.

With an unconvincing growl, the ghost follows, stepping into the air before landing gracefully on his feet in the frost laden grass seconds behind. “You’re so very depressing,” he laughs as adrenaline exterminates the blue dirtying his veins. The sudden surge of energy spurs his speed as he runs through gravity towards the heart of the courtyard.

“And you always brighten my days,” Z retorts magnanimously, sliding into the passenger side seconds behind him. Slamming the brakes, Louis sighs; having forgotten which button is automatically directed to the gates. Louis pauses until Z hisses, “Go already! You may be set to see the sun soon but I am not! I have a lot of life ahead of me _.”_ Of course, everyone’s heard by now, that is simply the way of the _vymia._

“I forgot–,” he protests, glancing at where Zayn’s pale gaze is focused: down the hillside towards the courtyard vampire’s advance.

“Listen,” his best mate snarls, flashing impressively sharp fangs (Louis almost feels self-conscious of his own, damn it), “I didn’t risk my fuckin’ skin for us to be _set to the sun next rise!”_

Sighing, Louis splays his hands over every possible button–apparently, this works as the gates squeal, and slowly but surely parts, “Louis,” Z presses.

“But–!”                             

“You can get _another car, but there’s no refund on life!” Like I didn’t know that,_ Louis thinks, rolling his eyes.

“They wouldn’t kill me,” Louis argues lamely, ignoring the snarl from the vampire beside him. _Almost enough room to make it through without etching the glossy coat of paint…_

_“Goddess, Louis!”_

“Just _one second!”_ Louis hisses as the figures begin to close in them from both sides.

“We don’t have–,” It’s at the last possible second that the omega slams on the gas, shoving Zayn backwards into the seat. Mercifully, his pretty Porsche makes it through without damage. He shifts gears, sharply rotating the wheel so they go skidding on the ice, nearing the gates again though Louis straightens up so the vehicle shoots them forward through the vacant country streets.

 _“You’re fucking mad!”_ Z is absolutely outraged beside him.

“See!” Louis laughs, tossing his head backwards as the excitement soars, touching dangerous heights. “We aren’t ashtrays yet!”

“Just drive.”

&&

Storming through the broad corridors, Aiden Grimshaw clenches his fists and rounds the East wings corner. Feet from the entrance of his destination the Weaponry Scientists have assembled–them being so close to _his mate_ causes his skin to prickle, and crimson to cloud his vision. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands tightly, stare locked on the massive Oakwood entrance where, behind, his little slut better be waiting on him.

Talon is who responds matter-of-factly, “The perimeter sensors have been tripped. We’re lockin’ down the mansion.” Another vampire, Talia, the bitch who’s been after his knot for the last two centuries, appears–snowy blond coils are pinned high on the aristocratic omegas head. At six feet, the style accents her beauty, the thin, leggy shape of her. Easy on the eyes, yes, a meaningless lay even more so. She’s a wanton, a thirsty female in search of political power she couldn’t possibly have _._ Such a waste. “It’s Louis,” she claims apathetically–the mere tone makes him want to strike her. Nobody is _apathetic_ where his omega is concerned. “He’s escaped. To go to them. To one of his pets.” 

Violence threads through Aiden as his fangs spring from his gums. “I want,” he snarls, “my future Liege found _._ And his _“pets”_ head on a plate!”

With a curtsy, the useless vampire finds her place _,_ and the others disperse. With them out of the way, Aiden unlocks the five barriers on the door to enter his intended’s bedchamber. Sensual and sweet the fledgling’s scent sears his senses, and his mouth floods with saliva.

Rage melts into something _hungrier_ as his eyes linger on the silk robbing that litters the carpet. A fascinating line to the parted dresser drawer where lace and velvet and silk and cotton lingerie are homed. Crossing the space, the politician sneaks one hand through the opening and curls his fingers around the _lucky pick._ Fisting the silk, white garment, Aiden brings it to his nose, and inhales the scent deep into his lungs as he sinks to his knees.

A ragged sob sound tears up his throat–his precious, pretty boy. The precious little babe Aiden _raised,_ watched and nurtured into his _post_ into vampire. The precious fledgling he _created_ to be this deviant little bitch. Rich memories come to life: being handed the bundle of babe with so much blessed _power_ in its little fists and working mouth. So much _power_ in his wide, gifted stare _._ An unimaginable power. Raising the little bitch hadn’t been an easy task, but the correct decisions had been made to ensure Louis wasn’t any feeble _civilian_ omega. Aiden had created the little demon to love him, and love him Louis _would_ whether it be his will or not.

Because Aiden will _never_ let go of his little treasure _._ Not even upon his dying breath, and even then, he would make it Louis’ dying breath all the same. Power is future King manifest. And both must be _his._

With the silk to his mouth the scent is mating _._ As the politician sniffs the memories are replaced by the future _._ Forthcoming that bloody ruby ring on that old bats finger will adorn _his_ omega’s. They will longue on the richest of thrones with those old, pathetic ashtrays tossed to the wind. First, Aiden will have them kiss his little bitch’s feet.

His previously flaccid member gives an interested twitch. Oh, how his little pet will look in his mother’s gown, taking Aiden’s knot on her throne _._

 _“Mine,”_ his voice is serpentine as he stands and fists the material in his hand before stowing it in his coat pocket. Without a doubt, Aiden is going to have his bitch back where he should be. And when he does the pesky bitch is going to wish he had taken Aiden seriously, because he will show him no mercy when he’s naked, bound and beaten and fucked into unconsciousness due to agony.

Smiling at the idea Aiden makes his way out of the sexual haven with his phone to his ear. “I have an assignment for you. A scent to track. Whoever finds and brings him _in one piece_ to me first gets to watch me knot him first.”

&&

“Louis,” his right hands voice disrupts his musing. With an owlish blink, the omega looks up through the veils in question. Standing, those orbs of chocolate regard him sadly until discomfort is stretched too tight over his skin. “Just…be careful, yeah? You’ve gone ghost for good now.” Really, Louis could’ve lived without hearing that.

Swallowing he nods once then leaves the infirmary where Zayn had attempted to tend to his face. There’s no use, it will heal by new sunset.

Always resourceful, he denied, opting to change into his assassin cloak and veils. Exhausted, Louis waves goodbye to Zayn, and drags his limbs to the Holder’s wing, through the corridors until he’s reached the special unit, typing the code and peering through until the locks come undone like Louis just might.

With any adrenaline lost, he enters the unfamiliar environment. It’s nearly as large as his bedroom (which is impressive as his bedroom could fit three master bed frames with space to roam and decorate still), with a toilet and even a cozy bed. It’s bare. An all-white asylum.

Sprawled out on the tile Harry Styles remains unconscious. Framing his face are tangled waves of hair. Damp from the bath they’d given him whilst under. In sleep, the furrow between his dark brows is unaffected. His trousers have been replaced with joggers. Under his request the vampire is shirtless, ink stark on his porcelain skin–it’s quite a sight. Otherwise Louis does not dare eyeball his body while he’s under like this, aware of his sleep cycle (there isn’t one at all). This must truly be purgatory for the death-dealer.

With an uneasy sigh, Louis lowers to join him on the floor. He even dares to huddle close, seeking the comfort that he can find nowhere else as he curls his body small to fit the alphas. Face–veils and all–buried in his chest, Louis allows his lids to flutter shut, shivering as the warmth leeches and the death-dealing vampire shifts against him, fitted like one of Louis’ many missing puzzle pieces. One heavy arm rounds his waist, carrying him close, _impossibly close._

Curious, his omegas crawled out from his mental corner, shaken and petrified. Louis is sickened by the helplessness he’s succumbed to…but _Goddess_ he is going to take advantage of this shelter while Harry cannot deny him. So, he simply shivers, and breathes, “Haz, ‘m scared. I wonder if you’ve ever been scared…” There isn’t any response, thank the Goddess. Relieved, Louis giggles inaudibly, “No, I don’t reckon so. You’re too strong for that. I wish I could be so strong…”

Silences stretches, and threatens to tear him down so he just rambles above all that, “Just…what am I to do? Ai…He wants to _mate,_ Haz. I have tried to say no, but…I am tired, and I am trapped. I’m in so much trouble…I feel powerless. Is this how you feel right now? Am I forcing you to mate me, too?”

At the absurdity, an incredulous giggle escapes his battered mouth. “Not quite so drastic then. Would you mate me, if you really knew me, I wonder?” At the thought his mouth parts. Emotion is sweet and soothing against his aches. Worries drifting, Louis promises fervently, “It would be the best of unions. I would be a _proper_ omega for you, but only for you. I’m not so bad, honest.”

Now Louis knows he’s being entirely unreasonable and silly with such talk. And yet… “I might be bad a lot of the time, but I would try. Try very hard, though I can’t promise perfection. I can’t even promise it’ll work. I’m a naturally difficult creature, but you’re used to difficult, aren’t you?”

A hoarse groan causes him to flinch, lancing him with fleeting fear though the alpha only tosses onto his back, still dead to the world. Louis giggles, and gentle as he can be runs his fingertips up the line of his jaw. “It might not be in this life, but in one of mine, one I hope I don’t have to hold you captive in, you’re gonna mate the hell out of me. I know it. We are meant. You are my _solis._ ”

With that Louis shuffles backwards into the corner nearest to the exit, settling safely out of reach. He can’t warm all the cold parts of his head when the distance bites bitterly; permeating his skin, veins and muscles and organs to give way and seep directly into his soul and leave him in a drab heap on the tile. Damn it, Louis thinks once his teeth begin to chatter, it’s now he wishes he’d have attended church more often, then he could ask the Goddess for a _coat._

Crushing his legs to his chest, the ghost assassin only yawns. A long while passes with Louis on that fine line between consciousness and unconsciousness. Out of nowhere a fierce, sleep addled curse breaks the silence. Blurring to a stance, Harry storms towards the exit where Louis is still a tiny ball of rags, watching as he’s halted by the shackles over the joggers. He just barely catches his balance, his Bambi boy does.

 _“_ Hell _,”_ the alpha snarls, reaching down to test the shackles’ strength by tugging. Determined, his large hand curls around one thickly steeled plate. On contact, Harry’s skin sizzles, and the stench of burning flesh crowds the oxygen. Louis wants to beg him to stop hurting himself. Blood drips before Harry curses, and at last takes his blistered hand back to wave it. At once the skin regenerates. So it’s true, the omega discovers in amazement, warriors in steady health _do_ heal supersonic quick. 

“They’re bulletproof, and welded into the foundation…” Louis provides, delighted. “Made some minor adjustments after that last little episode.”

Realizing Louis is with him _,_ the alpha lets out another venomous growl and lurches forward. He is almost afraid the restrains will not hold, no match for his strength. Unbidden, a tiny panicked whimper escapes him as he scrambles closer to the exit, just in case.

Frozen, those crimson eyes narrow to slits, and Louis shivers under the intensity, but centers on loosening his limbs to giggle breathlessly, “See! Guess it takes experience for you to _learn._ ”

Mute, the alpha blinks, the fire in that stare faltering as his long limbs take him over to the bed in two steps. Assessing it critically, Harry tests the mattress with firm hands, then groans and flattens on it.

Louis swallows, suddenly shy and shit. “We bathed you.”

Facing him, Harry’s glare pins him motionless. “Because hygiene was number one on my things-to-give-two-damns-about list.”

“I thought you might appreciate being _clean,_ ” Louis hisses touchily.

“Is there any sort of brain behind those veils?” Harry mutters. “Because so far all I’ve witnessed is a bloody _mouth_ that never keeps closed.”

“Why are you being so mean?” the omega asks, shrinking away a little.

“Mean? I’m mean?” the alpha says hollowly. “You’re proper cute, princess.” Green goes red. “You know what, nay. You know what is _mean?_ Being drugged and having to wake up to _you_ is _mean._ And what’s _worse? Being force fed. Drugged again. And having to wake up to who?”_ he laughs with a cutting edge. “Oh, aye. You.”

Louis flinches as his fight response flickers to life. “There are scads of the species that would be blessed to wake up to me _._ Who would _die_ for the privilege.”

“Well, that’s good for you, princess,” Harry says flatly. “But I’m not one of them. Probably just looking to lay with you and leave. You seem the type.”

“At least I’m getting some!” When the alpha only deadpans, Louis persists, “That’s right, Styles. I’ve watched you for _years._ You haven’t _mated_ once! Why? Nobody wants your sad wilted little prick?” Oh, now it’s getting _juicy._

Baring his canines, Styles says, _“'_ You did what?”

And oh, does Louis soak up the satisfaction. “Mhm,” he sighs happily, “Didn’t have to think much of why tissues littered your posh place.” Okay, so that’s not very true, making it into that manor was like trying to make it through the Bermuda Triangle, but on occasion Louis succeeded. Everything else: pure gold.

Words seem to fail him. Louis giggles, “It’s no wonder you’re so grumpy all the time! Must get lonely when it’s just you and your palm.”

Jaw ticking attractively, Harry only echoes, “Sad wilted little prick?” _Ah, alphas and their pride._

Louis hums, then shakes his head sadly. “Tragic, really. Poor wittle thing.”

A determined look darkens his handsome features; the green of his irises is gemlike, emeralds. Louis’ heart is ready to run right into Harry’s hands. “C’mere, princess, let me show you what it's really like _._ ” Somehow his voice deepens, thick and hypnotic.

Louis’ eyes go wide as saucers; a blush blooms on his cheeks. “What? The wee thing is shy! Don’t embarrass it like this!”

Tonguing at the sharp points of his gleaming incisors, Harry murmurs huskily, “You give me the worst erections. Aye, you do.”

Louis’ mouth parts.                                                                 

“Know why?”

He’s too breathless, can only watch Harry smirk disarmingly, “I have to shut you up somehow. Why not shove my cock down your throat? Win-win. You shut up _and_ you choke.” These steely words shatter his trance as Louis shakes his head to clear the compulsion, then sighs resignedly, “Don’t talk to me. When you’re not being so nasty then you are permitted to say something.” It’s all smooth sailing when Louis is in control, why does nobody get this?

Seemingly unfazed, he goes back to staring at the ceiling. It seems Harry’s abandoned his _silent-treatment_ as it’s only sixty heartbeats gone by before, “How long was I asleep?”

“Oh, now you’d like to be nice,” Louis snorts, then sighs, “Two days. You might’ve OD’d. I heard you purged a lot of the blood.” Disappointing as Louis doesn’t know when he will have the chance to feed him again…

Grimacing, Harry mutters blandly, “Should’ve added a bit more then. So I wouldn’t have woken again at all.”

“You do realize your body would’ve fought the drug until it dissipated,” Louis informs, though Harry nods, “I am aware, but it’s a nice thought.” _What a psycho._

Slightly disturbed, Louis asks without meaning to, “Aren’t you afraid of death?”

At this, Harry’s mouth turns down in a faint frown. “Why would I be? It’s bound to happen someday.” Concern prods at him until Louis murmurs, “Not for a few thousands of years, if you’re lucky.”

“Depends on your idea of lucky.” _Says the one who’s not set to see the sun this very year._

“Are you suicidal, Harry?” He doesn’t mean to sound so _sick,_ but.

Cackling _genuinely (_ such a sound that melts his heart in gross starry-eyed ways from fairytales), Louis listens to Harry mutter, “You sound concerned, princess.” When he doesn’t reply, “No, I am not suicidal. Were that the case I’d be dead already.”

Just the thought of Harry Styles no longer existing turns his tummy inside out _._ “Well, I’m glad.”

“Me too. One less warrior is one less vampire. I can’t stand the thought.” Longing creeps into his voice. Like any honorable warrior out of commission Harry feels the loss of his incarceration on unchartered levels. It’s a dangerous love affair between this war and its warriors. It’s till death do them part. 

Warmed, Louis murmurs, “Your loyalty is touching. I know the Clans are greatly indebted.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe so,” Harry disagrees bitterly.

“We are,” Louis promises. “We know the sacrifice. We will never forget all our warriors sacrifice for us. None are forgotten.”

“How could _you_ possibly know that? You part of the posse?” Something all-too-knowing lights up his eyes. It’s when Harry resembles the cat that’s gotten the canary that he thinks he might’ve made his fatal mistake.

Louis just giggles, because _what does it matter anymore?_ “I’ve known some royals. Been to one of the anniversary wakes for a warrior, actually. ‘Bout seventy years ago. And my _ma–_ the Empress always blesses a warrior’s Passing.”

“Who was it?”

Louis’ throat seizes up, and he doesn’t dare say. Still a fledgling not yet _post,_ Louis had peered from behind Aiden’s arm to catch sight of a warrior many years out of his _post_ kneeling on _Passer_ diamond shards in mourning for hours without one word. Just barely twenty, equivalent to about ten in human years, Louis hadn’t understood an ancient word his mother spoke, or why it caused the warrior to tremble like it did. He only understood Aiden’s simplicity as he straightened out his ruffled cravat, “Your _marema_ is very busy, Louis, you mustn’t interfere, _aye?_ If you do, you’ll go without a _feeding_ this _new_ - _night_.” Louis has always been bloodthirsty, brought up on it, even not needing the nourishment before his coming of age, so the idea of going without had him on his best behavior. Even so, Louis cried in the _“lycan lovers” (as Aiden called Zayn)_ thin arms for the warrior hours of the day when they both should have been sleeping.

He always wanted to be strong enough to bear such loss without crying _,_ like the warrior had. He never could be, and this is what he hates most about himself.

With an enlightened hum, Harry nods. “I reckon I know.”

“I was just a fledgling…but I wanted to say I was sorry for your loss,” Louis whispers sincerely. “So very sorry. I know…I know that was–,”

“Quiet. Don’t go there.” There are traces of a threat in his voice.

“Very well,” Louis surrenders, then yawns repeatedly staring through droopy eyes. “Tired,” he mumbles pointlessly, curled up so the cloaks warm his chilled skin just a bit. “Exhausted. Comatose.” It’s an intended joke _,_ but…

A frigid blast comes over the room. Possessed, Louis lifts his droopy lids to look over at Styles. Only to recoil. True to his BPD nature, the alpha’s gone from comfortably numb to sociopath in a split second. To the point where Louis’ almost positive he has no conscious clue that he’s baring his fangs or that his eyes are scorching blooded.

Louis’ voice falls to a mere whisper, and what he didn’t know he wanted to say comes barreling out of his mouth, “The sins I have committed are not without cost. Soon you will be released, I swear it. But for now, just bear with me. Everyone is already so angry with me…” _You’ll name me a traitor too._

When the alpha blurs upright, Louis bites his tongue against the whimper building in his throat, attempting to act low-key as he scoots towards the far wall. Growling under his breath, he storms–well, tries to, but the shackles slow the movements and make them fumble–across the room to the _very far corner._

Louis goes to ask, but Harry orders, “Get in the bed. You’re not sleeping on the floor. I won’t move.”

Suspicious because _what is this?_ Louis remains curled up in _his_ corner, untouchable and uncomfortable, out of harms– _Harry’s–_ way. Under the alphas heavy, expectant stare, Louis flushes, then mumbles, “I don’t believe you.”

“Bed. Now.” _So pushy._

Being bossed about by this vampire pours sunshine through his midnight bloodstream. Without permission, Louis wavers to a tottering stance, then shuffles to the bed. Calling on his courage, Louis swallows, and pauses to demand, “Your word. I require your word that you will not…”

“You’re no prisoner to these holdings,” the alpha states, propped against the wall with his arms crossed–the muscles bulge just enough that Louis’ a little distracted. “You are free to leave as you please. You can return to your bed, but you will not be sleeping on the floor.”

Shame washes through him anew as Louis shakes his head. “No, I can’t. I guess,” ridiculous snickers break his flow until he contains them, “for the lack of better words, I am homeless.”

Confusion lurks in the pale of Harry’s eyes. “Personal problem, _dhraga._ ” _Darling._ So simply the emotion fades, dulling the vibrancy in that stare which lowers, like there is something extremely riveting etched into the tile.

And yet… _darling._

_Darling._

“Haz…” the omega mumbles so softly, pleading with his droopy eyes though the alpha cannot see them.

_Nothing._

“Harry,” Louis sighs.

“Aye, what.”

“You know what.” To appear smaller Louis ducks his head, aware of the alpha he’s dealing with, a warrior that instinctively protects any of the seemingly fragile.

An obscenity, then blankly, “Fine.” Down on one knee, though the posture is awkward due to the restraints, Harry bows his head then claims with an intensity that lets Louis know he’s aware of his need of this _,_ “So long as mine enemy slumbers soundly in the bed I have been limited to,” the emphasis is not lost to him (he smiles, oddly charmed), “he will remain untouched by these hands. I humbly offer this vow.”

“Good boy,” Louis giggles, then bends to unzip his boots and toe out of them. Without the heels, he is inches shorter than what Harry’s seen before though he can’t find it in him to care overly much. “I accept. When’s the mating ceremony?”

A mute once more Harry doesn’t respond as Louis crawls into the bed, sinking down on the plush mattress. A purr forms low in his throat when he buries his nose in the fabric of the sheets where Harry’s scent clings to the material–minty, fresh, alpha-y. Sniffing, the small assassin giggles, then inhales again and thinks _alpha-y,_ and giggles again.

“Alright,” Harry sighs, obviously annoyed–when isn’t he? “Why the giggles?”

Louis blinks, then bites his puffy bottom lip against another giggle. Wince-worthy pain twinges his bruising features. This sobers the omega enough to speak without laughing, “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“We both know that’s untrue,” Harry insists, then, when Louis remains quiet, “I couldn’t possibly continue living sanely without knowing the reason for the giggles.”

Aflame, his sore cheeks become pink, which strikes Louis as ridiculously ill-timed. Here he is, cozied in his _hits_ bed, an absolute wreck _,_ and it is only _now_ that he has the decency to _blush?_ “You’re just so…alpha-y,” Louis snickers, then curls into a tiny ball in the middle of the mattress.

A low, throaty hum melts his insides as exhaustion contaminates his senses, and the ache of the past days spreads over his beaten body–though he’d thought there was no more blood to spare, the blood tears collect at the corner of his eyes and threaten to spill over more pain as he becomes a basin for the agony, catching all the nuances of his aches and stings and all at once it’s too much.

Trembling, Louis clutches the duvet tight around his frame, then forces an intake of scented oxygen as he mentally flicks the _off_ switch and gathers his will around him like a suit of armor. “’Hey, Haz,” Louis mumbles around another yawn. Of course there isn't an answer until Louis says again, "Harry." 

“What.”

“Sing to me,” he demands softly.

“No. I do not sing _._ ” As if to sing is such a _bad thing._

Wobbly bottom lip jutting in an obvious pout, the omega asks petulantly, “Why not?”

“Go to sleep.”

Rebellious even now Louis begins to hum to the beat in his head, _“…I get up in the evening, and I ain't got nothing to say. I come home in the morning. I go to bed feeling the same way! I ain't nothing but tired…Man I'm just tired and bored with myself! Hey there baby, I could use just a little–,_ ” A deep groan interrupts his starry performance. Clearing his throat with a _“shh!”,_ Louis continues on the lyrical line in his head, _“I need a love reaction, c’mon, baby gimme jus’ one look…”_

“Enough,” Harry mutters, shifting so that his shackles clank–something has changed, because the sound doesn’t startle him even a little. Something has changed.

“You got somethin’ against the King of Rock- ‘n-Roll?” Louis sasses though he’s floating away from himself, the scent marking his skin now his lifeboat against his own mental waves.

“You’re no Springsteen, princess.”

“You dunno that,” Louis teases. “I’m a _masta_ in disguise therefore I could very well be Springsteen.”

“Your voice is too high. You’re too thin, too small. And Springsteen is an older American gentleman.” _Way to be technical, Haz._

“What can I say?” Louis sighs, struggling to really form a coherent response. “I lost my voice a few years back. I lost some weight. And I’m hiding a lot of wrinkles underneath these veils.”

“What about being too small?” his voice is rough, but amused and comforting.

“I forgot to eat all my veggies?” It’s more of a drowsy question than an answer.

Seconds later it’s not sleep that claims him, but that’s okay…

Unconsciousness works better anyway.

*** &***

As an unnatural stillness steals over his prison, Harry thinks that life truly does put you in places you wouldn’t have ever expected. Under no circumstances, not even the worst nightmares his subconscious once conjured (back when he still slept before deciding it was unnecessary–he learnt to deny his body this luxury to save his mental state from being dirtied by the blood that forever stains his hands) would Harry have ever thought to be _here,_ to be able to handle the enemy in his sights without acting on the rancid retaliation virulent in his lungs.

Thing is, dealing death, setting gory scenes, watching the eyes of his victims lose their life, has fed the vampiric entity that is the sole reason he’s survived this long, has deteriorated his morality to the point that he’s been working on a violent kind of autopilot.

Willing, ready, and able to execute, but moving in a dreamlike state. Up until recently he has never shed the reality of how the alpha raging against the vampire, the vampire raging against _him,_ has influenced him.

Seems the supernatural wars, the _blood shed_ from these wars, has generated an internal war. Somehow his conscious continues to hold his mental states fort, as he continues to aim for even scores _–_ hence his little vow: killing one in the vulnerable state of _new night_ would be foul play.

Or perhaps he’s withholding because it would not be nearly satisfying enough–no, his vampire relishes listening to compositions made up of screams, delights in observing his victims cling to their failing lives, delights in _terror._ Delights in the knowledge that is he is lone reason for their suffering.

Without his awareness, the alpha’s stalked along the walls over to the bed, leaning against the wall as to linger in the shadows. Suspended in time, Harry looms over the vampire nestled in cloaks and veils and sheets, measuring the slight rise and fall of these fabrics that mark his breath. While he can feel the minutes dripping into hours…he’s incapable of movement even as his legs grow numb.

So, Harry analyses the vampire at rest, noting every change. Small– _glaringly small,_ the sort that’s unprecedented in the Assassins Creeds. Without the boots, the vampire is short, and the body buried beneath the fabrics cannot be at any advantage–dainty, sun-kissed hands come to mind, hands meant to gentle, to care. It seems impossible that those hands have done harm as it seems impossible that they are innocent. Without that snarky voice the vampire presents softly, tiny and vulnerable, like that of an–

Unannounced, the bolts to his prison retract, the steel entrance slithering open. Guards, vigilant and alert, begin to inch inside. Some unknown territorial anger lights his chest up like a bonfire, teeing off a blaze of power that roars in his blood. An irrational, vicious sound tears through the hush. One words rolls around in his brain, a grenade with the pin out: _mine._

Recoiling, the vampires, betas by the stench of their alarm, fumble to draw their weapons. The mediocre hold on the SIGs makes him laugh–empty and humorless. Refusing to meet his static stare, the betas assess the area and catch sight of– _no._

Deep in his chest the alpha growls again, then blocks their view with his own body, resisting the urge to crouch on the defense. A tiny, distressed sound builds from behind him. It’s a shattering sound. In this sudden moment Harry would do anything for him anywhere. Triggered, his irises shift in color, sharpening his vision.

Of course, the two fools share an extremely horrified, puzzled look. They aim, and their intentions are clear in the wide bulging of their eyes.

“Very well, go on,” Harry offers tonelessly. “But, be warned, you wake him up and its–,” like the useless rodents they are the two scurry out of the room with their tails between their legs. In the same instant, the door shuts and the bolts secure themselves. _Well, that’s disappointing…_

As the anticipation writhes, Harry growls, fisting his hands as– _“N-No,”_ a terrified breath interrupts his vampire’s advancing tantrum. Tension grasps his shoulders as Harry pivots so the steel no longer bites at his skin, returning to its intended arrangement. Locating the source of the sound, Harry wonders whether the vampire’s been disturbed by those two–they should pray to the Goddess that it isn’t so. _“No…stop it!”_

Tangled in the duvet, the small assassin flails his fists and begins to screech, _“Don’t touch me."_ As the sounds are wrenched from his throat, broken and desperate, the sadness in the room is a tangible threshold he’s breached, his body penetrating the cold wall of desolation only because he crouches beside the bed. “ _…leave me…let me go…”_

Cold replaces any of his vampire’s heat.

1  
2  
3 seconds before the cold draft emanates from his body, chilling the air. As his blood runs cold, Harry’s throat tightens like the restraints holding him. Petrified screams try to blow his eardrums, “Stop!”

An initial alpha instinct he’s never felt is to take the hurting creature into his arms. But, _no,_ he’s through with this alpha instinct nonsense, and stays right where he is. Deciding to use his voice, the alpha clears his throat, opens his mouth…and says _nothing–_ what is he to say, how is he to address the nameless vampir _e? ‘Begging your pardon, but you’re disrupting my plotting?’_ No, too damn polite, and he doesn’t _do polite. ‘All the noise is giving me a headache’?_ No, too damn irrelevant.

Cursing under his breath, Harry ignores the vampire’s little helpless whimpers to lean over his frail figure. “Wake up,” he keeps his voice impersonal. When the vampire– _stubborn thing–_ only screams again, thrashing anew, the alpha tries again, _“Dhraga, wake up.”_

Sharp shrieks, _“Go away! …off of me!”_

 _For Goddesses sake._ True, Harry doesn’t have anything better to do then listen to some brat’s trivial issues…but his endurance has thinned.

Bracing his hands on the mattress to the best of his ability, he shakes it roughly. In an abrupt rush, the thrashing assassin lurches forward and two concurrent events occur. One: the thickly laced veiling catches somewhere, revealing a glimpse of the vampire it conceals.

Two: a balled fist catches him in the jaw; the impact snaps his mouth shut which in turn causes his drawn fangs to pierce clean through his bottom lip. Staggering away, Harry opens his mouth, taking his fangs with him; the back of his hand scrubs at the welling blood as the punctures seal.

Clambering to the corner, his captor is petrified as he clutches the sheets, the veils already readjusted.

Even so this does nothing to negate the branded image before his eyes. It’d been mere seconds, but the skin revealed, sunny as those hands, was marred with bruises in various stages of healing due to his rest, and the shadows and swelling around the one crystal eye he’d caught appeared to be draining away, the cut at the puffy red mouth in regeneration.

A human’s cancer the rage that’s simmered ages begins to eat at his conscious mind–but it’s baseless _._ He wants more than _anything_ to hunt the person down responsible and make them pay though there is a likely chance the vampire before him already has. _He can’t do this. He will not._ Whatever’s happened to the vampire is not his concern, nor should it evoke some semblance of emotion from him. _No._

Except his body knows no bounds, and as he stalks in the other direction, flexing his jaw, his anger carries a toxic chemical scent, the kind that stings his nose raw.

Tension threads through his muscles until he is standing with his back to the small creature, squeezing his own eyes shut and gritting his teeth against any more animalistic uproar. He is going to let it go, the emotions already draining lifelessly, but then, _“you bastard!”_ an outraged hiss.

Taken aback, Harry turns on his heels only to be greeted by an unforgiving slap across the face.

As the sting spreads, the alpha snarls, prepared to detain him. A knife is pressed to his throat, cozied to his jugular. Stilling, Harry assess the situation. The assassin is still shoeless, and it’s comical that the tiny, weak creature before him even wields a weapon, but his body language, the shaky hold on the knife tells him that this vampire merely feels cornered, crazed, and perhaps haunted.

Sensing all this weakness _,_ his eyes go blooded.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Here's to another chapter!(: 
> 
> Thank you all for the feedback, it's much appreciated <3
> 
> Dani xx

As requested here is some background on this verse: 

Vampire:

  * Believe in Nyx, Greek Goddess of Night
  * Average lifespan: Immortal. 
    * Age slower than humans. They age until (ave) 35 when they mature into a vampire ( _post)_. Subsequently all aging stops. 
  * Vampires born, not created.
  * _Vymia_ (society): 
    * Very A/B/O patriarch (In order from most to least powerful) 
      * Truebloods (Royalty)–Elders and their offspring
      * Executioner–Trueblood bred to bring justice and order
      * Warriors (Death-Dealers)–protectors of the species 
        * The Clans are the combined powers
      * Politicians (Handle all societal aspects)
      * Civilians (Those involved in none of the above)



Lycan/Shifters:

  * Believe in both Nyx and Hemera (Goddess of Day)
  * Born & Created, also under the order of A/B/O
  * 4 Major Packs (North, West, South, East)
  * Lycan’s do not age after their first shift.



_Ahmari:_

  * A demonic product of Erebos (Darkness)
  * Slayers of all and any other Supernatural 
    * Use hearts as a vessel to spread darkness
  * From the _Otherside_ (A harbor for the soulless)
  * Do not age; conjured as an adult demon
  * No social order



**Part Two:**

 

 _Okay so_ Louis doesn’t really know what he is doing. All the vestiges of his nightmares ensnare him, the gruesome reality of them. He is upset, and is most definitely holding his knife the wrong way.

Harry’s stare of blood shows him this so perfectly that his vampire hisses, and his omega shrinks. But, for whatever reason, the death-dealer makes no move to hurt him; in fact, he’s frozen, strung with tension that clouds and weighs down the air.

Likewise, Louis isn’t breathing though his limbs are trembling. It’s just that…he’s never been so in over his head as he is right now–after the previous night’s episode with his Mother and Aiden _,_ after his… _issue_ _returned,_ he feels exhausted _,_ emotionally, physically and mentally all at once.

All he really wants is to be cuddled by this alpha he’s playing pretend with and sleep a few _new-nights_ away. But that is a fantasy too jammed up, the tape broken, the DVD scratched, and the digital file corrupted.

“Princess, stow your weapon.”

Louis despises how _manic_ his voice sounds when he speaks again, “You gave me your word! _You promised!”_

“I did,” Harry agrees, then, like it hardly matters _,_ “I promised these hands would keep from you. They did.”

Thrusting the knife riskily close, Louis flashes his fangs. “ _Same difference.”_

“You are unsound right now. This is not an assassin’s way, _dhraga._ You are allowing your emotions to best you.” A hand slowly encloses the blade, not yet confiscating it. “Whatever it is happening in your bratty life does not concern me. I simply want mine back _,”_ as an afterthought, “Then I want to take yours _._ ”

“Shut up,” Louis retorts violently, nearing hysteria. “You don’t know _anything_ about me or my life. _Nothing._ And you don’t–,” In his frenzy, the omega doesn’t even see what happens next, but the hand around the blade constricts and tugs so the knife runs roughly through the alpha’s hand then clatters to the floor. He had been oh so careful never to get so close, but now he is being yanked forward by the back of the neck. Gasping, Louis sprawls awkwardly against the solidity of Harry Styles, his omega body melting under the concentrated control in the tall vampire’s grip.

“I could do it now _._ I could lift these veils, grab that knife and slit your throat wide open in the same second,” the alpha warns, lethally quiet as he leans in.

A statue, Louis breathes through parted lips.

Shivers dance up and down the line of his spine as his body effortlessly softens into the steady of Harry’s. Braced on the broad of the alphas shoulders, Louis stretches on his tiptoes because it’s not close enough unless they’re mouth-to-mouth. “You could lift these veils,” It doesn’t sound like his voice at all, all silky and seductive. “Kiss me a bit, maybe. Touch me. You want to, don’t you?” 

A fire ignites between them. Something hot _,_ something _starved,_ smolders in his darkening gaze. Louis doesn’t know what to do, _how to react,_ when long ring-barren fingers run up the length of his clothed arm, down to his wrist. There’s so much strength in those hands; so much _capability._ He could shatter his bones with just enough compression. But he doesn’t _._

He doesn’t.

With one squeeze that Louis doesn’t know what to make of, the alpha’s fingers lower to pinch his right glove and slowly peal it away. Assertive, the tips of those fingers hint at the skin of his hand. Involuntarily, he balls both hands into fists, but the one Harry’s playing with _,_ on the verge of creepily _,_ pries them apart again. Louis tracks his gaze, and bites his bottom lip. So close, connected like this, the differences are so stark _._ Not the size or the textures, but the _tones._ Where Louis’ been kissed by sun, Harry’s marked by moonlight. In an Old Language Louis hasn’t heard anywhere but the Elders’ tongue, the alpha asks almost inaudibly, _“What are you?”_ In his near century of being, nobody has once dared to ask _him so directly–_ contrary to what the _vymia_ thinks, Louis lives to _observe._ It is no secret that his blood is tainted though the relation may always remain an unknown. It is no secret his Mother had hoped in vain that upon his _post_ into vampire he’d _pale._

Were he born of any other vampire he would have been sentenced to the sun as an abomination. For all Louis _is,_ he also _is not._ Ears always perked _,_ he would torture himself with all the _vymia’s_ societal bashing, whispers of the _“lycan lover,”_ and _“the Empresses illegitimate heir”._ Upon confronting Viktor for the truth months prior to his mother’s reawakening at fifteen vampire years, the Emperor had knelt beside the _pre-successor_ , _“One mustn’t question one’s marema, fledgling, certainly not ones Empress. Verily, you were gratified by the Goddess of Day, Hemera, within her womb. You have a very much to learn, and ‘tis why Lord Grimshaw was granted guardianship. He is to instill to you what each Elder cannot whilst resting for their ensuing reign.”_

_“What of my sire?” Louis asked stubbornly, crossing his arms. At the pointed look that slightly alarms him, Louis tact’s on hastily, “Emperor.”_

_“Your sire, Louis, was one of the erstwhile Executioners utmost essential warriors. He was slayed by the ahmari mere months before your birthing defending your marema as was his purpose, fledgling. Verily, the warrior greatly anticipated your delivery,”_ and the Emperor had gone onto to tell untold tales of the father Louis never had the chance to know, stories that flowered Louis’ want to serve as something more than just a spectacle. Alas Louis was born royalty _,_ and as static as the vampire species is, _was doomed to stay so._

Before Louis’ mind really gets going _,_ the alpha startles him by carrying his slack hand up to his face, examining with such solemnity that Louis laughs, then chokes on it when Harry nuzzles his palm with his nose.

Out of his element, Louis is in motionless skin, gaping. Harry gives nothing away, and Louis’ skin prickles uncomfortably because now he feels like an experiment. Well, that’s until the alpha’s parted mouth replaces his nose.

Where they touch is sensation like none he’s had before. He’s never been touched by an alpha like this, except for Aiden _._ Aiden who has– _no, to hell with that old bat._ Louis will not allow the politician to ruin this for him, if this be his only redemption.

So, Louis wiggles his fingers, and mumbles breathily, “’M as I’ve always been.” When Harry flashes his fangs, the daze is almost damaged. He must sense this, devil he is, as the _flash_ is just that, and his mouth (oh the disappointment) closes.

As if hypnotized the warrior releases his hand only to pin him to the wall. Like this, Louis is trapped between the cold wall of Harry’s prison and the solid wall of the vampire himself _._ Warmth the colour red blossoms between them as Louis’ breaths shallow, and his skin tingles with all the desire pooling low in his belly. Reacting, the ghost assassin’s thighs tremble, and in his catsuit his erection is throbbing in time with his violent heartbeat.

Louis purrs _low low low_ in his throat and tilts his hips just enough to rut against Harry’s thigh as his only breath hitches.

Some silky sound spills from his untied tongue as the smaller stretches up so they’re the closest they’ve ever been. Against his lips Louis can almost feel Harry’s breath. Up in the clouds, he closes the space so their mouths meet at last. It’s like he is floating, rather than constantly exploding. With the veils between them is silky and warm and tormenting.

In these precious seconds, any pain against his in the process of healing mouth does not matter. The way Louis’ parting his mouth in welcome even though it’s going nowhere matters. The way large hands splay over his hips and long fingers dig into his flesh, bruising him in the most delicious ways _matters._ The way the alpha is pulling him in, against his wiry body, and the way the bulge in his joggers presses tight to his tummy, the way some possessive sound builds in his throat, matters more than anything else _._

With Harry Styles wanting him _,_ Louis can no longer feel sorry for himself.

It’s a temporary high he doesn’t ever want to lose.

For now, temporary has to be plenty.

Already dizzy, the omega does what needs to be done and tears away to giggle happily, “ _I kissed you! Goddess, I’ve wanted to do that for more than forty-seven years._ Wow _._ Just… _wow_. It was everything I thought it would be, too. Just…magical.”

And just as magical, Louis also _traces_ out of his arms.

&&

               Holed up in this Hell Harry discovers there is nothing else to distract his desperate frame of mind. His creativity runs dry quicker than even the blood in his veins.

An all-white wasteland, these four walls mirror his minds madhouse (one of unseen sorts). Since that _happening,_ the ghost assassin has vanished. Harry can’t say how long has exactly bygone since then, having lost track the fourth _new-night_ once the psychosis settled in.

Avoiding the little lights as he always has Harry dwells in the dingy dungeon of his mind. There isn’t much to be had. Long ago the death-dealer had resembled a _someone_ inside as well as out. All the remnants had been strewn and scattered here before Harry could ever become that someone.

Now all the little lights that have become him detail only death and tragedy.

Two hundred and nine years Harry has avoided all and any of such thoughts, surviving strictly on instinct. A merciless vessel for merciless deeds. Indeed, Harry had slain Des Styles, his sire, but only to escape his cruelty, to free himself from the Executioners captivity.

On that very day, his birthday (the anniversary of his father’s Passing _)_ Harry had observed unresponsively as the fire set devoured the male, and on that day with all others cowering, he’d sworn to never live as he had under the Executioners rein.

Yet one hundred ninety-two, soon to be ninety-three (unless it’s past which could very well be) years later, he is _here,_ imprisoned once again.

Except _here_ there is only time.

Time matters only if one does something with it, and Harry has already done what he could herein. Which isn’t much at all.

Abandoning such thoughts Harry thinks only of war. War which is ugly no matter the facet shown.

A train of images gather slowly, gaining gory momentum–

Acting against this, Harry buries his face in the softness of the barley used duvet. A fragrance lingers like a memory, tangible and elusive. Just like that, the alpha dodges his own train wreck.

Goddess, it’s as if the memory of their lips together is a magnet that drags him back again and again; the pull too strong to fight, the connection too enticing for him to even want to avoid it. Despite his age Harry had evaded intimacy, and in mere seconds his first kiss had been stolen from him. It’s not the act that matters, but his reaction to it is vexing.

He’s played and replayed everything over and over again, stretching out the moment endlessly, reliving it and taking a strange kind of nourishment from it, again and again.

He’d been wrong. Confinement is no punishment likened to this illusion.

Anger, an emotion he’s never fancied feeling, a force he no longer permits himself to attach to people or events, riles in roars. Around the furious static Harry is vaguely able to hear the bolts retracting. 

In still seconds the fury sucks most of the air out of the room. He is so focused on what his mind seems to have summoned that he doesn’t even need his lungs to work properly.

Obsession is as good as oxygen. And anything that has to do with the ghost that haunts him gives him life.

The unfortunate corollary is that the bloody creature meets fire with fire.

                                                                                                                                &&

               Oblivious in his exhilaration Louis skips through the prison entry, right into the ring of alpha fire. He is a shadow even for Louis’ own vampire eyes. There’s no tracking Harry’s actions, not until there is a ton of towering alpha anger inches away from him. A breath catches in his throat, and his skin heats under the brutality in the death-dealers glare.

“You _,”_ the deep dominance in his voice signals his advancing actions. A hand strikes out just as Louis bounds backwards, all the while tossing his keys in the corner out of reach.

It’s glorifying how Harry senses his violence and his vicious comeback: in the blink of an eye he falls into his fighting stance, becoming powerful and prepared. Well, well, well, the ghost assassin thinks in delight, what an opportunity. Rather than reaching for any of the weapons fastened to his body Louis springs at him.

Always the show off, he gives the alpha everything he has and more, his fists and legs flying at him, his body becoming a whirl of punches and kicks, which (damn him) Harry deflects with his forearms and dodges by ducking his long torso and (big) head.

Giggles dribble from his lips as his heart guns against his straining ribcage every time Harry fails to detain him. Ah, the advantages of the smaller-side.

It’s like Hell, how hot it’s become in the prison that suddenly seems small _,_ but _better_ as Louis keeps at Harry. Faster. Tougher. Deadlier. Until the alpha _really_ returns what Louis’ putting on him, rather than risking severe injury. His first hard strike catches the omega in the shoulder, throwing his balance and certainly splintering bone–but Louis recovers quickly and spins around, leading with his leg and boot.

The impact to his gut rocks Harry so hard he grunts–at least until the omega spins once more and strikes him in the face with his knuckles. As blood splatters, the alpha snarls, straining against his shackles, _“You’re de–,”_ Harry doesn’t have the chance to finish. Louis plows into him, catching him around the waist, driving his weight backwards into the wall. There is no contest like this, though. He’s twice Louis’ size even malnourished, and he takes charge with ease, peeling Louis away from him and flipping him around to hold him back to his front.

 _“_ Yield _,”_ the warrior says, not even out of breath.

With an airy laugh the ghost assassin slams his head backwards, nailing him in the face so his grip loosens a split second. Which is all Louis needs to break away.

Flipping free of him by using his strong body as a platform to fly from, he–

Greatly underestimates his momentum. Instead of landing with his weight perpendicular to the tile, Louis pitches forward–which means he hurts one foot badly, his body tumbling wildly to the side. Pain is loud as a scream.

Just before the steel edge of the bedframe keeps him from hitting the ground (and inevitably paralyzing him) he’s hauled up, nearly off his feet, by the cloak, and thrusted onto the tile with a jarring thud.

Louis doesn’t have the chance to catch his breath as he’s being strewn across the room, wincing when the back of his head collides with the door.

Leaning lazily against the wall across the room Harry regards him through flat eyes the color crimson. “Next time I won’t spare you. You have robbed me of too much. You will not rob of me of my pride.”

“What of your honor?” Louis breathes curiously.

Something fierce flickers to life in Harry’s eyes. “I have none.”

&&

               Victim to London’s downpour Louis is crouched atop the ledge of a building in wait. Across the thoroughfare Zayn mirrors his posture, though the other vampire appears more godlike than anything else.

A bright light pierces the shadows.

Stares boring Louis nods just a bit, and so does Zayn before diving downwards towards the asphalt of an alleyway. His shadow, Louis springs and lands gracefully on both boots before treading in the same direction: the underground station. Wound up on alert Louis stays on track and weaves between human bodies with his stare secured to the back of the enemy. Two rugby built males, the _ahmari_ are closing in on Zayn’s back with an alarming hustle. Easily falling for the bait.

And then once underground…they stop.

Unprepared for this Louis breaks protocol and flattens against the wall while Liam, _fucking lycan,_ marches on, not following his damn direction.

These creatures may appear human, but they are anything _but._ The species is dying because they are forgetting this.

He holds his breath as the bigger of the _ahmari_ whirls around with eyes of evil. Once Liam is seen the creature shrieks in extraneous tongue and sprays bullets.

It is the very first time in all their centuries that war erupts in the presence of humanity (they scatter with peals of screams and scents of fear).

As the gunshots stifle the screams the overhead lights shatter.

With two guns heavy in both hands Louis walks through the disorder with bullets for the _ahmari_ who had just gunned down one of his own–withering on the floor Louis watches in horror as blue bursts Reiner’s skin to ashes, his face beginning to crumble. On his highest alert he’s aware of backup heading into the line of fire and shouts, “Yield! Yield!”

It’s already too late. War has broken out, and they must hold their ground. In slow motion, the omega assassin looks upon their disaster; cowering humans catching stray bullets, transforming lycan’s with ugly mugs under Liam’s command, and vampire militia casualties.

Through tunnel vision Louis can see a ring of lycan’s closed in around Zayn, the prevalent most intimidating in the center, triple the size of all others growls through scary scissor sharp teeth, snapping at every _ahmari_ attack. More allergic to silver than vampires the bullets piercing the Lycan’s are proving fatal, and Louis knows Liam as the alpha must protect the whole and retreat.

“C’mon, c’mon, _go,_ ” Louis hisses, willing Liam to _listen_. By some miracle the alpha throws his monstrous head back and releases a howl that shakes the entire premises. When all those alive disperse down the railway Zayn is nowhere to be seen, having _traced_ to safety he’s sure.

Able to breathe again Louis falls back into the fight.

One, the big boy from earlier, roars, and unleashes rounds that cause Louis to retreat with another wall to his back, breathless as he reloads.

It’s that one that Louis’ vision files on again; he is running and Louis is going to chase. He is slowed by backup, but follows the black goo that is _ahmari_ blood smeared along the walls and rubble.

With his heart racing the omega assassin pauses at the resonating screeches then hisses when the train runs by before slowly rounding the corner. It must be a sign of something, how the lowlight is casted above a steel-barred opening in the ground.

Unwavering, Louis opens the thing and plunges in, landing with his gun drawn as he assesses the dim underground tunnel system rapidly.

Multiple rounds are fired at him from behind. Louis whirls around and catches his enemy with his trigger, watching the huge creature collapse with gurgled noise. Unsheathing the dagger attached to his hip the omega doesn’t waste time disposing of the nasty thing, palming the gun left behind to view the ammo. All the bullets left in the chamber glow a fluorescent blue. 

 _This_ is all the proof Louis requires.

&&

               With an air of arrogance about him the omega surges through the manors ostentatious entrance to sneer at the usual horde of aristocrats. He lets there be no distraction until he’s entered the Weaponry Sector, tossing the weapon down on the desk before Talon who is fiddling with another of his precious inventions. “Here is our serious problem.”

“Louis.” Talon says through still lips as those eyes of brilliancy latch onto the weapon.

“Settle my score, Talon.”

“Very well.” Through sure motions the Weaponry scientist takes the bullet between two prongs, examining it willfully. “I’ll have to run a few tests. It’s definitely a radiated fluid of some sort.”

Triumph bleeds into his voice when the omega states what should be the obvious, “Ultraviolet ammunition, Talon.”

Peering at him, the other vampire says quietly, “Daylight harnessed as a weapon.”

Of course, in comes the fucker of the century, “You expect anyone to believe that some archaic creature came up with a bullet specifically engineered to kill vampires?” Grimshaw’s nostrils have flared, beady eyes narrowed slits on him.

“No.” Talon shakes his head. “I’m reckoning its military, somethin’ they stole. Some sort of high tech trace around.”

Louis argues in disbelief, “Look I don’t care where or how they got those things. Our men are _dead._ And others may still be out there! We should gather the death-dealers and head back down there in force.”

“Absolutely not. Not now. Not for random incursion when Styles is missing. _You_ are still to stay in your room. The awakening is upon us and this manor is in a state of unrest as it is.”

“Random?” Louis all but spits, balling his hands into tight fists. “They opened fire on us in full view of the public! And from the commotion I heard–,”

Flashing the sharp points of his fangs the politician snarls, _“You should not have been there to begin with. You are to stay put! You will see yourself damned if you do not obey your marema’s ruling.”_

“I have been falsely accused! I am _innocent,”_ Louis’ voice breaks as it climbs. “She required proof. There it is.”

“There is nothing to prove your innocence! Your word is not enough, nor does your defiance help your cause.”

“Talon?” It’s his last damning resort.

“He’s right, Louis. This simply isn’t enough. It would be best to follow Grimshaw’s instruction and–,”

Unable to stand the mention, thought, idea of following that fool Louis _traces_ out of sight, going wherever his mind takes him.

&&

          As easy as the clouds in the sunlit skies, the assassin tears through the forest. Unable to keep up the forest blurs around him; beyond them the clouds are thick curtains, the moon hanging in the sky. Vampires’ natural sunlight. In the strings of twinkling lights, the stars are all the moons silent tears.

_“For every vampire lost, the moon sheds stars. It’ll shed thousands for you.”_

In these passing moments, the darkness compresses him in haunting glimpses of the past.

_In his arms, the infant creature is so tiny, so achingly tiny with its fangs just hinting at its gums. A glossy red is the reason its wide wet irises appear violet in their dingy prison. It can’t be more than seven years of age, if even. Louis could recognize its lineage even without his omega’s violent intuition–it’s pasty pale, with the vine-like veins of its life eerily visible in all areas, and angelic in conditions no human, no fairy, no shifter could withstand at such a susceptible age. Sometime before its capture the creature learnt to walk; it couldn’t have been too long ago as it still hasn’t learnt to control its speedometer. Once on two feet the fledgling is a bullet released from its chamber, taking flight up the walls before gravity, neglect, and unfamiliarity drags it down where it crumples on the dusty, dirty ground with a heartbreaking wail and sickening thud as yet another brittle, baby bone breaks on impact. It’s begun to take too long for the cells to regenerate. Vampiric death is upon it, and Louis just…can’t let that happen._

_See…when Louis looks at the tiny creature of his own blood all he sees is forgiveness. Its matted hair is fine, soft and the fairest shade of blonde. Possessed by a compulsion he’s never met with before, his fingers tremble as he combs them through the knots and tangles. It…It is a female. And she is gnawing on his wrist. It’s weak, and feeble, the barely there points unable to break the skin._

_Acting as the young’s life source Louis pierces his skin with his own incisors, brushing the bleeding skin to her working mouth. He knows it will not be enough, as she requires food as well and he hasn’t any of that, but he tries. Goddess, he tries._

_An angel, she latches onto him, the suction pain and pleasure all at once. In awe Louis strokes her hair with his free hand and hums an old hymn his marema had sung to him on rare occasions; “O lonely night, we are ‘ere to love,” until she’s fallen to sleep and left him to protect her from the cruelty of their captors._

_He tells the sleeping fledgling of Nyx’s love for her children, of Her loss._

With a sharp breath Louis tears his mind free from the memory to stare nostalgically up at the moon as he’d done so many decades ago. He can see now the moon will shed no stars for him as it had the fledgling he had been powerless to rescue against the sun. Vivid as the moment it happened he can see the fledgling shackled to the stone wall in circle of the rising sun. With crushing clarity Louis can feel the fledgling’s agony as her flesh turns to ash, and–

And…his doesn’t.

Louis chases the incandescent orb on bare feet, wanting to destroy it for abandoning its child that day.

A while after, burnt out, he settles cross-legged at the mouth of a precipice, in wait with a heavy heart. It feels like forever before the horizon spreads in all directions, the colors melding exquisitely. It’s a random swirl of the fairest shade of pink all aflame by fiery orange against the skies oceanic blue as bright beams of what the omega assumes to be sunlight breaks through the clouds.

Oh, but Goddess above, it is lovely. A sight worth all the third-degree burns, all the agony, in the world.

Breathless, Louis holds very still as a blanket of warmth eases over him, coats him, calms him. Since birth Louis’ heard the pain of such exposure is like no other, and yet here he is, sprawled out on his back under the sunlight with a mad grin.

He doesn’t know what this means for him, and can’t bring himself to care either. He’s proven he is not only what he’d been made to believe. He is more than a creature confined to darkness.

Lit up on the inside Louis lives in the light, but only for the moment, abandons the night.

&&

               “You mean to tell me,” Zayn clarifies for the umpteenth time, “you didn’t fry in the sunlight?”

“Goddess above!” Louis throws up his hands, blowing out an annoyed breath. “Yes, Z, that is exactly what I’ve been sayin’.”

“You’re…serious? Not takin’ the piss?”

Midway the assassin stops and lifts his veils so his sapphire gaze cleaves to Zayn’s dark chocolate one. In the dimly lit corridor both their irises are luminous, Zayn’s lined by silver: a shifters trademark. As an alpha’s mate, he carries Liam’s bite, and his blood. “Serious.”

Realization melts them into something entirely otherworldly: gold copper coat. “Very well. What are we to make of this?”

Louis shrugs. “I am the Queens crossbred heir.” _An abomination, another freak-show._

“Tell me something I didn’t already know, _arshla.” Beloved._

Those words jab at something sensitive, and far too soft. “Is it so very obvious I am not one of you?”

Zayn’s features soften. “You are as you have always been to me _._ To hell with the _vymia.”_

Grateful to his right hands eternal loyalty Louis takes hold of his hand and says, “This stays between us. If anyone hears of this it’ll only be more reason to see me damned. I will be seen as…” He avoids thought of _that_ particular. “I’m gonna play pretend until I have a plan. In no more than a month I will have my proof. I just…I’ll need help.”

With a short nod the other omega promises, “You have us, always _._ So be it.”

It’s only when Louis is in front of his finest prisoner’s chamber that Zayn calls curiously, “What do you intend to do with that one?”

“I fear I may have to ravish him,” Louis mutters, then blushes at the others suggestive smirk.

“There’s always Liam and I if you’re looking for playmates, y’know!”

Louis rolls his eyes, dismissing him without another glance, “I don’t shag dogs!”

“Just monsters you make your slaves!”

“Touché,” Louis giggles before greeting his conquest.

&&

               “What is your favorite colour, Haz?” Louis wonders out loud, though he receives no answer until he huffs, admiring the gleam of his nail polish, “Harry!”

“I have no favorite,” the alpha says tonelessly.

Louis frowns, then presses softly, “C’mon, there must be one.”

A soft flame flowers all over his body when Harry’s stare finds him. There’s an odd overcast to his gorgeous greens, perhaps a tinge of red. He’s only known a vampire’s eyes to go blooded for two primitive reasons: anger and desire.

“Blue.”

“Blue,” Louis echoes, then, “Well, that’s boring. Why?”

Harry simply hitches one shoulder in a lazy shrug.

Louis licks his lips, then scrapes at the bottom one with his fangs until he has to know. “Humor me.”

A long time the death-dealer says nothing, then when the small assassins head is about to burst in flames, “It rests my mind.”

“There’s not much that does, is there?” Louis guesses softly.

He expects Harry to ignore that, and he does, but it’s just as the omega is on his way out that Harry murmurs, “No.”

“No?” Louis asks, hand outstretched for the keycards.

“Nothing else rests my mind, aside from ending the existence of my enemy.”

“Which would be me?”

“You hardly worry my mind, fledgling,” Harry snorts, though his eyes are no more amused than moments before. “ _Ahmari._ ”

Louis lingers for a few heartbeats, not knowing what to say. Then, for no reason other than maybe the idea will rest his raging warrior mind, the small assassin tells him softly, “My eyes are blue.”

He flees before Harry can say anything else.

&&

               “Haz! Haz! Haz!” Louis singsongs, stepping gracefully into the unit. When the ghost assassin doesn’t immediately see the alpha, his blood runs cold, though it’s only seconds before there’s a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the ceiling. Tilting his head backwards, Louis looks up to catch sight of Harry on all fours, upside down. Like that, the death-dealer’s hair fans out around his pale face, and his grin exposes pearly fangs. Settling his nerves Louis quirks one brow, then asks, “Is there a reason you’re up there?”

“Just hanging. Catching some rays,” the alpha murmurs dryly. Louis is helpless to his own girlish giggles; it’s nothing new as he places the keycards on the hook well out of Styles’ reach. “The shackles run up the wall. I became curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Louis murmurs dubiously.

“And satisfaction brought it back,” the smart-ass quips with another one of those smirks that shortens Louis’ breath. “So, I decided to look into it. Not much else to do ‘round these parts. Lovely little view of the moonlight up here though.” 

Louis closes his fangs around his bottom lip, grateful to the veils that conceal his cheeks that surely are dusted with pink. “Oh, that… _right_.”

Without warning the alpha lands gracefully on two feet in the center of the room and regards him with pale, cautious eyes. “Another attempt at kindness?”

Louis swallows, then whispers shyly, “Worked this time, yeah?”

With only one slow blink, Harry decides, “Better than the bathing, yes.”

Louis laughs breathily, taken. “I knew it would.”

Becoming unresponsive Harry leans against the further wall to peer up at the square opening that displays the midnight sky. There’s an intense longing there, in his eyes. Suddenly, all that Louis can think is to distract him, but the alpha beats him to it. “To what do I owe this visit?”  

Excitement recaptures his heart as Louis takes the sleek silver whips wrapped around his chest between two fingers, toying so they rattle. “Look!” the ghost assassin shrieks elatedly. “New toys!”

“Erotic.”

“You don’t even know what _kinkery I have in store for you, milord._ And anyway, is that… _Why I never!_ Am I hearing _humor?_ ” the omega asks, thrilled by this abrupt development. This is the first time the death-dealers been…well…conversational. “Maybe I should give you sneak-peeks more often!”

“Maybe I’d fancy that.” There’s something about the low, husky way the alpha says so that has Louis’ entire body flushing hotly underneath his catsuit.

“Anyways,” the small assassin says breathily. “Check out these new tricks!” When he shows no indication of _scooting,_ Louis sighs, “You have to like…back up! I don’t want to hit you.”

“A first.” _Who are you? And what have you done with my Styles?_

“Sarcasm doesn’t work for you, H.” But it does. It really, really does.

Harry rolls his eyes, but walks to the opposite corner to wave a hand in a _go-on_ motion.

“Prepare to be amazed,” Louis giggles, crossing his arms to grab the hilt of either snakelike whip. Yanking the two from his chest and into the air, twirling beautifully as Louis controls the silver, snapping his arms back to curl them forward again so they cut through the air with whistles. Crossing his arms, the alpha watches him slice at the air, making funny motions so it looks as if, _“they’re doin’ the worm! Look, Haz!”_ He is delighted.

“You’re such a fledgling,” Harry murmurs, but Louis _thinks_ he’s amused.

“Wa-cha!” Louis whisks the whip with one flick of his wrist. “How many _ahmari_ d’you think I could end with these bad boys?”

“None.”

Louis hitches an artful brow, then extends both hands so the whips lash out in both directions. “One, two, three, four!” he counts the imaginary enemy he is _destroying._ Twirling, the omega lashes them backwards, “Five!” Bringing one over his shoulder, then outwards while shooting the other to the right of him, _“six and seven!”_

 _“Seven! Ta-da!”_ Louis crows, slightly out of breath. “Seven in three movements! Badass!”

“You ever fight an _ahmari,_ sunshine?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis resists rolling his eyes to scoff, “Of course.”

“Then you should know it’s not going to take one mere lashing to execute.”

“Yes, _oh-so-wise-one._ But it is enough to stun them and provide some damage before I make my next moves.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance against a pack of _ahmari_ with those.”

“Your faith is touching, honestly,” the omega sighs, shrugging. “I’ll tell you how it goes when I really use ‘em.” _Silence._ Louis dares to glance at the alpha. Finds that his normal impassive “pleasant” demeanor has changed, and his face is contorted in an all-consuming rage; his nostrils flaring and his irises an eerie, intimidating red, mouth straight as knives. This time it isn’t directed at him, but at _him putting himself in danger._ It’s an alpha’s look, and Louis’ entire body melts as his heart sprouts wings. Well, vampires are said to be _bats,_ so he’s staying true to lore. 

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, Hazzy?” Louis asks sweetly. “You look a bit…stiff.”

“Don’t do that,” the alpha bites bullets. “You’ll be lookin’ for death.”

Louis’ gaze softens visibly, emotion sweetening his blood. “So, you _do care about me._ ”

“No,” Harry says sharply, too quickly. “Don’t think so highly of me. I simply don’t wish to be trapped here for an eternity.” Harry knows as well as Louis that _were that to happen_ there would be the opposite effect; he’d be set free with no reason for the Assassins Creed to keep him.

Louis bites his bottom lip, then mumbles softly, “I’ll tell you how it goes.”

“Don’t. You’ll be killed. Use that on the shifters, but not _ahmari._ ”

Around giggles Louis murmurs, “Sure, baby, sure.”

Growling low in his throat, the alpha stalks forward, but Louis moves to the exit and starts to reattach the whips to his chest. They get caught in his cloak, and he stumbles about, laughing breathlessly all the while struggling. “Well,” Louis mumbles boyishly. “I am going to _kill myself_ first apparently.” As his arms flail, the ghost assassin continues to scramble, lightheaded but unwilling to rip the material even as he tugs softly. “Bloody hell, baby, this is so–,” he meets the hard wall of Harry’s chest, and instinctively shies away, but steps on the cloak and goes falling. A large hand circles his arm before Louis can make impact, then he’s being softly balanced, and Harry orders, “Hold still.”

Against his vampire’s better judgement Louis obeys, helpless to his voice. It seems _right_ to do as the tall warrior says. It’s no wonder the death-dealers are at their ends without him.

Louis holds his breath as Harry rounds him, those strong hands swiftly untangling the whips. Once free the small assassin tries to side step him, but the same hand grips his gloved wrist with no intentions of letting up. He tenses under the contact, or rather the delicious proximity. Towering over him from behind Harry is all heat and control, his free hand sneaking between the cloth of cloaks to run down his leather clad arm. He feels the rush of his mere touch, and it’s more than wonderful.

Shivering, Louis just barely resists melting into him, though his eyelashes do flutter. “You are not to die unless it is by my hand.” His voice is harsh, and unforgiving. Another shiver rides up his spine.

“Why do you care? Scared you’ll miss me?”

“What is there to miss?” Harry snorts. “All I want from you,” his hand tightens on his wrist almost painfully, “is my freedom. I am behaving for now only because I enjoy working up to things. And you, princess, are one of those things.”

“Why d’you keep calling me princess? It’s rude.”

“Because you continue to act like one. All giggles, snarky words and sunshine. I reckon all the alphas have fun with a thing like you. A vampire made of sunshine. Something new and pretty to look at, that is until they get burnt. It’s–,”

“Rare?” Louis offers smugly. “Irresistible?”

“Maddening. Shameful. Sunshine doesn’t belong in our world, princess. And this regal attitude you’ve taken up doesn’t change that.”

“I’ll be your moonshine then,” Louis suggests silkily.

“Somehow,” Harry says, leaning just a fraction closer, “I believe this. You would be anything you thought I wanted. You’re…smitten with me.”

Louis stiffens, then sneers, “You’re such an arrogant bastard. Out of all the vampires I could own you think I’d choose you?”

“Tell me, sunshine,” Harry continues as Louis silently seethes, trying to snatch his arm back though Harry’s grasp might as well be iron, “is there an omega hiding beneath all these cloaks and veils and mouth _?”_

With little effort Louis relaxes his body, mind going a mile a minute before he erupts in snickers and just leans into Harry entirely. “I hate to be the bearer of oh so bad news, Styles, but ‘m not the omega your overactive imagination has made me out to be. Getting a bit desperate to have some sort of advantage, are we? You’ve honestly deluded yourself into thinking an omega could manage this masterpiece? Cute. But, I mean…” he leans his head back just enough his eyes have zeroed in on Harry’s ticking jaw. “You’re better than that, yes? How could an omega best you, our coming Executioner? You’re only wounding your already tattered pride thinking such things.”

He lets the bait sit until Harry murmurs slowly, “You’re not _any omega._ You’re…”

“Dare you say it?” Louis gasps happily. “ _Special?”_

Against him Harry goes rigid. “Different. You are…different.” Louis chooses to take that as a compliment.

“Hardly,” he chides. “An omega capable of touching the mighty Harry Styles!” he giggles at his own genius. “Think about it. I admit I am quite a fabulous badass vampire, and an even better assassin. Still, it was hard enough being who I am to touch you. You were practically untouchable.” Harry releases his arm which gives Louis the chance to turn and place a hand on the broad of his shoulder. “I can’t be smitten with someone so superior to me in every way. Sometimes we just…screw up. And you screwed up big time by letting your guard down so carelessly.”

When the alpha turns his face, there is a stifling sense of shame that causes Louis’ throat to tighten uncomfortably. “Hey,” he breathes, fingertips trailing down the line of his strict jaw. “What’s with that look?”

Without answering Harry turns and makes it to his corner.

Louis swallows as the worst feeling, something like heartbreak, comes over him. He almost wants to apologize, or confess, but catches his tongue as Harry crams his long limbs into the tight space beside the bed. He rests his head on the wall and simply stares at the ceiling. Louis wills him with his own stare to look at him, but the alpha never does. He never does.

Louis refastens his weapons then types in the security code. He pauses, clears his throat, and still says nothing, choosing to let it be.

 


	3. Part Three;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another!
> 
> Dani xx

“I’m so sick!” Louis snarls to nobody, crimson coloring his vision. He does not dare acknowledge his own tears, opting to focus on the trigger of his pistol instead. In slow motion, the assassin watches the bullets straight through the forehead of the target. “So sick of being the monster all the time.”

“You are hardly the boogieman,” someone familiar snickers. Louis whirls around, aiming the muzzle of his gun on the intruder. Leaning against the control panel Liam grins all wolfish charm before tossing his automatic from the dashboard. “Seems it’s one of _those_ days, aye?”

Louis catches it in one hand, tossing the other to strap the sash around his chest, comfortable with its weight. He prefers his daggers, much like Harry, but this will do for now.

When another target is lifted from the ground he takes aim and fires multiple rounds. The bullets are precise and clean, demolishing the statue.

Liam, who apparently hasn’t left, barks laughter, “I’d hate to be whoever pissed you off this time. It’s the one you’ve been pinning on I’d reckon. Styles, is it?”

He chooses to ignore that with a sparring look to Zayn’s beloved. “Sector 7. Lockdown.”

He also doesn’t bother to wait on Liam’s answer, stepping into the bulletproof chamber once he’s been identified by the security. With grace, the ghost assassin unfurls his whips just before the metal door some measures ahead begins to part with the ground. Feral noise booms from within the darkness of the cave where their jailbirds are contained.

Locked in, Louis crouches, anticipation heating his blood and speeding his heart.

He smiles, and singsongs, _“come out, come out, wherever you are.”_

Seven _ahmari_ run rabid from their cell. Soulless holes the color of black ink drill into him just as the stench of decay assaults his sensitive nose.

Louis is more than glad to meet them halfway.

&&

 

               All the hours prior to his captors leave drag on eternally. It’s when Harry is on the brink of madness that those damn bolts come apart just seconds before the door itself. His nightmare reappears, “Hello again.”

A low growl forms in his chest though Harry just as easily suffocates his alpha. He means to ignore him, to preserve his already failing energy, but his eyes still stray. The small ghost assassin steps just outside of his sight only to return dragging in–

_Ahmari._

Just the sight is enough to revive something savage and starved in his blood barren brain. He wants to lunge across the room and give into the lure of the kill.

It takes everything he has left to focus on the small vampire who is still struggling with the bodies. It takes too long for him to get seven of the deadly creatures sprawled out on the tile. Ugly things they are. One is on its stomach, revealing deep gashes and raw flesh.  Harry figures the others are the same. They are all still alive. These creatures are durable, and soon they will heal.

Unable to help it Harry pins the small vampire with a withering glare. He only hangs the bloody keys and asks cheerily, “Feeling better? Did you get the food I had ordered?” In response Harry looks blankly at the metal trays placed neatly on the tile beside the mattress. He must catch sight as well as he sighs, “Why are you so bloody stubborn? Didn’t your _marema_ teach you manners? This is no way to treat someone above you!”   

“I never knew the female who birthed me.” He immediately regrets thinking out loud.

“What happened to her?”

An uncomfortable pressure forms between his brows. “My sire.”

“A most notorious Executioner. How was his death dealt?”

“I killed him,” he says flatly.

He gets no reaction whatsoever. There is no stench of fear. No silence. No nervous air or flight response. All the small vampire does is shrug before switching back to his original topic, “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to take a few bites?” Harry snorts. “Two bites?” He feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but refuses it. “A little nibble?” He would rather take a few bites out of the little menace.

Seeming to give up the small ghost assassin nods. “Very well. Don’t bitch at me when we go through forced feedings again.”

Harry shrugs, like this is nothing of concern though his skin crawls at the prospect. He will not allow that again.

“Well,” he chirps brightly. “Look! Seven! Just like I said!”

Unimpressed Harry rolls his eyes and remains silent.

“Does nothing please you?” It sounds like it’s supposed to be a growl, but it’s an adorably huffy sound.

“My hands wringing your little neck might.”

“You’re an outrageous buzzkill.” With all those black veils surrounding them the small creature almost resembles an angel of death. Or a miniature version of the Grim Reaper. Harry can’t quite decide which is more accurate. 

“One of my many talents.”

An incredulous giggle comes from behind those dark veils. He doesn’t like that sound. It’s far too enchanting. It rouses a reaction deep in his body that he doesn’t understand. It’s an icy realization: he’s getting used to being with him. “Weeeeell,” the vampire carries on with a whole lot of _meh,_ hopping over the corpses. “Wanna see my battle wound?”

“No.” 

“You do,” the cocky little bastard says before hiking up the cloaks up to reveal boots and skin. Smooth, sun-silk skin.

“Are you…unclothed?” he asks disbelievingly.

Another of those damn giggles. “That hardly matters right now! Look! Look!” He can’t even resist; deep claw marks wrap around the calf he’s pointing to. It’s clotted with blood, and an angry pink. His attention is taken by the bruises. They all appear to be in their final stages of healing, littering the skin of his legs up to his concealed knees. “What happened?” he asks again without meaning to, peering up at the veils.

“What do you mean?” he asks impatiently. “I told you! I _destroyed them._ But _that one,_ ” he points to the corpse that is staring back at them with onyx pits of hatred, “got ballsy.”

“The bruises,” he clarifies because he has to know. “How far up do they go?”

The small assassin drops the cloaks then prances over to the one who clawed him. “Wanna _poof_ him?”

“The bruises,” the alpha repeats levelly.

He shifts in a motion that almost seems like a shrug. “Always gotta do everything meself! Goddess, what is the point in having slaves. _”_ Revealing a sleek dagger from somewhere in those cloaks, the small vampire kicks the largest one onto its back. It’s broken neck lolls as it hisses. Just the sound coming from that thing possesses the alpha to stand and plant his boot down on its face. Under his force its facial structure collapses, brain matter and blood and other unmentionables splattering onto the tile, staining the white an ugly, near black red.

Disgusted, he scrapes his boot on the tile to rid it of the gore, then leans against the wall and motions to the other to proceed.

“I would have liked to look into its peepers before I _poofed_ it,” he comments rather disapprovingly, placing his hands on what must be his hips. Harry just shrugs.

Giggling that extremely infuriating and luring sound the assassin crouches.

“Say hello to my little friend,” he says darkly, flashing his (miniature) dagger. In a beautiful fluid movement, he plunges the dagger into its chest and with a burst the darkness swallows the corpse whole, taking two of its comrades with it. _What a waste._

He makes quick work of finishing the rest, but pauses before the last. “Wanna do it with me? A little vamp-on-vamp, ome–,” he erupts in a completely staged coughing fit, “bonding time?”

As his brows knit together Harry shakes his head though his vampire is crazed by the mere idea. “I’ll pass.”

Fishing into his cloak the small vampire conjures another dagger, extending the hand holding it. “You can do it on your own then. If only to make sure you haven’t lost your touch these past four months. Your militia will need their Executioner at his best.” Four months, noted.

Goddess, he is so weak. That is all it takes for him to surrender to his primitive core. He crouches like an animal and takes what he’s been offered as the vampire drags the body where he can reach. He hesitates if only to be a gentleman. “You don’t need to watch…”

“’Cause my sensibilities are so very tender?” he asks sweetly.

“Aye, I wouldn’t want to scar you, little sunshine,” he thinks he sounds lighter. He doesn’t know what it is until, “Oh my, Harry Styles are you _flirting_ with me?”

He frowns because, _is he?_ He’s never been an accomplished flirt, hasn’t given much thought to such foolish fledgling’s play.

As if understanding this the small assassin mercy’s him. “I do believe I’ve seen and done it all once or twice before. Go on, let’s see what you’re all about. Why everyone is so very afraid of you.”

As the blood roars in his ears Harry strips the _ahmari_ with some work, assessing its pale human form, sprawled out helplessly on the tile. “Do you have any other weaponry?” he wonders distractedly.

“Oh! Yes!” the vampire is all eager excitement. As he goes to retrieve whatever is underneath that cloth, he stops, then whines. It’s a painful, pitchy noise. He almost wants to hear it again. And again. “I left them in the persuasion center. I…I could get ‘em though.”

Harry waves a hand. “No need.” He wills his hands steady as he grips the dagger, familiarizing his hand with the lesser feel of it. He cracks his neck to loosen up some even as his fangs spring from his gums. He falls into his instinct naturally, morphing into his own force, escaping his mind for the first time in so bloody long.

It’s gruesome as it gets.

It goes on for far longer than it should until he has no choice but to end it. He plunges the dagger into its heart. A blast of darkness, and suction.

The dagger clatters to the floor. He hangs his head, screwing his eyes and mouth shut as his chest heaves.

“You must be a God,” the small vampire’s voice comes as a shock through the haze. “I must admit I’m pretty impressed. Awed even. Should I like bow or summat? It seems only _right_ after…”

Snapping his head up the alpha bares his fangs at the intrusion, but then the small creature goes to kneel in front of him, right in the pool of _ahamri_ leftovers. Something else gears up within him. “Don’t,” he orders hoarsely, reaching out then snatching his slick hand back before defiling him. “Don’t sit there. You’ll dirty yourself…”

“I want to be closer. You look like…” he doesn’t finish that daft sentence, sensing whatever it is he’d been about to say would be Harry’s breaking point.

“Sit behind me, if you must.”

Without hesitation, the small vampire does just that, draping over his back. Slim arms wind around his shoulders. Tension seizes his muscles, the sensation foreign and–, “Don’t refuse me.” There’s something irresistible in those three small words. Something soft and impossible to say no to. Something ethereal that would bring him to his knees were he standing.

His chest aches as his ribcage constricts, not knowing what to do with the emotions splintering each of his bones.

He wants to ask where this creature came from and if Harry is the only one he makes feels this way. All the words he doesn’t know how to say are trapped there, between his ribs, their edges cutting through his flesh. Bleeding him on the inside; internal bleeding, funny.

Seeking distraction from his own desperation Harry clears his throat to speak quietly. “The bruises, tell me how those came about. That is the condition to you being so close and my not doing anything drastic.” This way it almost seems like he’s in control.

“Why ever are you so interested, Haz?”

“The bruises.”

“I’m sure some hits are responsible for a few of ‘em.”

“And the others?” he can’t help but ask as the small assassin clings to him.

He whispers into his shoulder. “Born into the wrong existence, I suppose.”

“Your point?”

“I…” he seems to struggle to find the right words, then just, “I am to be mated.”

Without warning an inescapable, entirely mindless riptide of rage crashes into him. His vision goes red. “I don’t welcome the joining. It’s…There just isn’t anything to be done now. I’ve resisted his advances and refused his attentions to no avail. He’s well…disgusting. I’m doomed to be a martyr. You should just do away with me now.”

“Explain,” Harry bites through clenched teeth. It’s all he can do to keep from growling like a threatened animal.

“Well,” the small vampire giggles. It’s like a damn defense mechanism against discomfort. “The bruises are his doing. He’s quite violent. Actually,” he amends as an afterthought, “it’s my fault. I can’t be the quiet, docile thing I’m supposed to be. I’m uncontrollable, and it pisses him off like nothing else. Alas, I do love watching him rot with jealousy and all those beautiful things.” Of course, this small creature plays with fire. For all Harry doesn’t know about him, that much he can tell.

It’s an almost suffocating thought.

“Why haven’t you fought back? You’re…capable. You could kill him. Or at the very least report him to the Clans. They would not stand for…”

“I’m not an omega,” he reminds him. Even hearing that now prods at him. Instinct doesn’t accept what his pride so badly wants to. “Omega’s are the only ones protected under the Covenant.” Like Harry doesn’t already know this. “And as I said it’s complicated. I can’t fight him, I’m already in enough trouble. And I can’t kill him because that will only prove me guilty.” He’ll process all that once he’s alone with his thoughts, for now he wants details.

“Who will kill you?”

“That’s irrelevant, innit?”

“I wouldn’t allow it,” he decides without missing a beat, forgetting he’s prisoner here, not Trueblood of the highest warrior rank. “Nobody touches you.”

Behind him the flighty vampire sighs. “Why not? It would solve your problems. Shouldn’t you be _wishing_ for my death?”

_You belong to me._

He flinches, then lies, “I do, often. I told you, your death will come by only my hand.”

“I don’t believe that,” there’s an almost endearing hopeful note to his voice. “Not anymore.”

 _I don’t entirely either._ “Well, sunshine, you must not be thinking straight. As usual.” He tries to wait on the small one’s response but can’t help but press, “Tell me more about this _mate.”_

“That, comrade, is for another time.” With the grace of a feline the vampire leaps to his feet. “I will have the guards bring you some pails of water to, er, wash. I must be off to greet my intended.”

In a fluid movement, the alpha takes his delicate ankle in one hand. It’s hard to ignore how frail the bones are underneath his grip; how fragile he is elementally. “Stay, my scent’s all over you.” It’s an abrupt realization; he still despite everything cannot smell the small vampire’s fragrance, but damn he can smell his own. He inhales just to be sure, and realizes as the heady fulfilment stirs the most basic components of his species that he is damned.

“Good,” he giggles darkly. “He thinks I’ve little pets. It’s amusing, if I’m honest. And anyway, I’ll handle it easily.” A dormant primitive instinct stirs at the idea of the giggly, perky creature handling abuse.

Suffocating his impulses, the alpha releases him, and watches as he makes it to the exit in easy bounds. He pauses only to say, “Maybe I’m just _a tad_ infatuated.”

Just like that, the ghost assassin disappears, his body taking him where his thoughts are. As the seconds draw on Harry finds himself longing to follow.

He’s losing his mind to these four walls. No, he’s losing his mind to that small, forsaken sunshine.

&&

The next time the metal barrier between Harry and the real world comes apart he is slow to respond, halfheartedly looking for the strength to lift his head or lift his eyelids. It’s been another few trying weeks of aggression on both captor and captive’s parts. He has lost interest in living like this, or like that.

It’s all the same: meaningless.

He remains unmoved until a voice he doesn’t recognize demands his attention. “This is a sore sight.”

It isn’t hope or faith that helps him to regain some sort of control over himself. It’s sheer willpower. He’s briefly blinded by the overhead lights as the intruder carries on, “I give you a few hours.”

He feels at peace with that observation, his vision adjusting to give view of yet another set of cloaks and veils. The Assassins Creeds are nothing if not anonymous.

Uninterested he is about to go back to waiting for those few hours when, “I have a question for you.” Harry imagines his captor has sent this one in hopes of convincing him to feed. It won’t work, but he will allow him his moment anyway. 

He snorts in answer though it’s more a sickly wheezing noise that his visitor winces at. “Do you believe in fate?”

He shakes his head. No, he doesn’t. He can’t.

“May the Goddess see you safely unto your Passing then.” It’s almost too easy–he turns to leave but Harry isn’t finished, and speaks through the fist in his throat, “I’m not afraid to die.” He isn’t because he believes wherever he ends up will be better than what he has endured in this life.

“Perhaps you should be. Perhaps this is your last chance at redemption. Perhaps this is Her _ruthral_ to you.” It’s a farfetched claim that sucks him into an old memory, one he hasn’t revisited in ages.

 _The fledgling knows that post is upon him. He’s been aware of its approach as his body has been different for quite some time. Constant_ _headaches and hunger. Unable to sleep though exhausted._

_It feels as though he awakens just as soon as he falls into his new-night with his tiny, pre body raging with fever, an agonizing hunger sweeping through him. He writhers on the ground, hoping for relief, finding none. He exists as such with his bones snapping and his muscles stretching until they rip._

_This is how the Executioner finds him, his voice piercing through the pain. “Get up.” Harry opens his eyes to find the Executioners empty ones regarding him. “Dare you defy? Up I say.” A hand shoots between them, fisting his hair and hauling his trembling new form up off the ground._

_He is struck with an odd thought: his father looks so much smaller than he remembers. Des is the biggest of all the camp, though, rumored to be the largest alpha born into the species. He still tries to find his limbs, but the Executioner allows him no more time, dragging him through camp, summoning an audience._

_He is shoved into the pit, an uneven circular sinkhole in the caves floor. Waist deep, with its sides and bottom dark brown from blood having been spilled, mercenaries are expected to fight until they cannot stand. No conduct is barred, and the only rule pertains to the loser, and what he must present himself to address his deficiency in combat._

_Harry clenches his teeth to keep from crying out–such a show of weakness will only worsen whatever is to come._

_“What goes on herein, my loyal servants?” comes his father’s booming voice. “What goes on herein?”_

_Once gravity has caught up to him Harry gasps for air, able to see the Executioner looming at the lip of the ring, legs planted, pale eyes level. He does not know what to make of this as his father’s moods are ever-changing, his whims violent and capricious._

_When there is no answer the Executioner laughs without smiling, the barking sound coming from lips that are straight._

_And then he ends it. With no effort at all he grabs a nearby omega by the back of the neck and throws her into the pit with him._

_"My son is to at last become a true male this day!”_

_Of sudden spiked boots plant themselves in front of Harry’s face. “Stand, boy.” He blinks dry eyes and tries to move through the pain. He takes too long, and for this he receives a slap so hearty it knocks him onto his back again._

_Blood from his nose drips. “Shall I strike you anew? Or will you do what I’ve asked?” the Executioners tone is bored, as if either outcome is acceptable as both will hurt Harry and thus bring satisfaction. “Stand. Do not forget you are as disposable as that nasty sister of yours. Damn her soul.”_

_The other vampires who have gathered behind his father cackle, and someone throws a stone that hits Harry in the face. It’s a dull pain._

_With no other choice Harry spears his little fingers into the dirt and drags the body he has yet to grow accustomed to. He is so weak (surely no son of such a ruthless warrior loins). His stomach rolls in pain, and he throws up the little meat he’d taken._

_After the retching passes, the newly post still struggles._

_“Stand,” the Executioner orders again. “Or think you I should bow to the worthless?”_

_Harry struggles into a sitting position and can’t fathom how he is to get his full body up, as he can barely lift his heavy shoulders. He switches his weight and pushes. The pain is so great his eyesight goes black…and then a miraculous thing occurs. It’s as if sunshine has swept into his veins and cleaned the pain until he is free of it. His eyesight returns…and he sees behind his father an unearthly figure that nobody else seems to, as if it is of belonging._

_Now is not the time to wonder. He peels himself from the ground, rising. With hands that do not shake, Harry presents himself to his father._

_For a heartbeat the Executioner just stares back, as if he never expected his progeny to get to his feet. Then he turns away indifferently. “Someone knock his arse back down. His boldness offends me.”_

_And just like that Harry lands in a heap when the order is followed, and at once the radiance leaves him. Agony returns. He waits for other blows to land–they never arrive._

_Someone speaks to him, in his head anyway. ‘You mustn’t give up.’_

_“You are only allowed to feed if you are to drink ‘til her heart stay silent.”_

_He breathes raggedly through his nose, hearing the terrified omegas begging. He knows her fear. He feels it every day. He nods only to appease his father who shoves the cowering omega into him before returning to his place at the lip of the pit. “Handle her!”_

_“Please,” he whispers soundlessly into her ear, taking hold of her flailing arms as to give a show dominance. “I mean you no harm. We are both dead if…Please, let me…”_

_“Now, boy!”_

_He waits until the female has calmed enough. In view of camp Harry feeds, setting his body into post. He stops the suction after a few minutes once she is nearing unconsciousness. He then lays her down with care though she seems not to notice. Out of control his body, he clumsily steps over the female, ready to get out._

_His father’s boots plant on the lip of the circle, blocking his way. His eyes are narrow as blades. “You have not finished.”_

_“She shall not rise.”_

_“Not the point.” The Executioner nods to the omega on the floor. “Finish her.”_

_As the omega moans, Harry assesses his father. If he says no, the game his father is playing will be fulfilled, the alienation of the Executioner is after complete, though not in the way the vampire had probably expected: Harry will become a target for the simple staple that he will be perceived as weak for not killing the undeserving victim._

_If he finishes, however, his position in the camp will be as stable as it could be–until the next test._

_Exhaustion overtakes him. Will his life always be based on such a crude and unforgiving scale of balances?_

_The Executioner smiles. “This bastard who calls himself my son has no spine, it appears. Perhaps the seed that his marema’s womb ate was of another?”_

_Laughter ripples through the crowd, and someone yells out, “No son of yours would hesitate at such an hour!”_

_“During such an hour no true son of mine would be so cowardly as to spare a worthless life!” The Executioner meets the eyes of his warriors. “The weak must be soft, as strength is not available to them.”_

_The sensation of being strangled locks onto Harry’s throat, sure as if his father’s hands are wrapped around his neck. As his breath quickens anew, anger swells in his chest and his heart pounds._

_He looks down at the pale omega and thinks of Gemma, and the thousands of cruel and graceless acts that have been done to him over the course of his life._

_He asks the Goddess to help his heart be great._

_“Nay,” he says quietly, “I am no son of yours.” He hasn’t a chance to act against his father’s onrushing attack. He is swatted away as a fly, and the omega is dead in the same instance. Her lifeless corpse crumples to the ground with a muted thud._

_He clambers to a stance, wishing to take her place. Wishing for death._

_He scrambles like a goat to get himself out of the ring, and though he knows not what time of day it is, he runs through the camp to the main way out of the cave._

_As he bursts free, the cold night is just gaining its hold on land, and the faint glow in the east burns his face. He prays to Nyx it melts and turns to ash for he will never see himself more than a shame._

_He bends over at the knees and throws up again and again until it feels like his soul has left him._

_“So weak you are.” The Executioners voice is bored…but only on the surface. There is a depth of satisfaction in his words caused by a mission completed: his inability to take that female’s life, his retreat afterwards is precisely the kind of cowardice his father had sought._

_The Executioners eyes narrow. “You shall never best me, boy. Just as you shall never be free of me. I shall rule your life–,”_

_On a surge of hatred, dead on the inside, Harry springs up from his crouch and attacks his father head-on, leading with his hands. The Executioner goes rigid as the blast goes through his massive body, and the two of them fall upon the ground with Harry on top. Going on instinct, Harry locks his palm on his father’s thick throat and squeezes._

_As the Executioner eyes turns brilliant red, Harry’s own sting briefly and a vision replaces what is before him._

_He sees the death of his Father. As clearly as if it happens in front of him._

_Words leave his mouth, though he is not conscious of speaking them: “You shall see your end in a wall of fire caused by a pain you know well. You will burn until you are nothing but smoke, and be cast upon the wind by my hand.”_

_His father’s expression turns to abject horror._

_Harry is peeled off by other warriors and held by the armpits, feet dangling above the snowy ground._

_The Executioner leaps up, his face ruddy, a line of sweat beading above his upper lip. He breathes like a horse ridden hard, clouds of white shooting out of his mouth and nostrils._

_Harry fully expects to be beaten to death. He laughs wildly when his father snarls, “Bring me my blade!”_

_W_ _hile he suffers he calls out in his mind to the marema who had birthed him. He imagines her coming unto him aglow with love and stroking his hair and telling him that all is well. That Gemma is with her._

_In his pathetic vision she calls him her beloved ruthral._

_Gift._

_He would have liked to have been someone’s gift. Gifts are valued and cared for and protected. Gemma had been a gift to Harry._

He shuts these thoughts out long enough to remember where he is. Alone again.

He feels bare bonded, and crazy. So much so that when his only constant comes crashing into the room, _crashing into him,_ he hears himself speak, “I need to feed.”

&&

Louis sits crisscross in front of Harry, slightly fascinated by how his long legs bracket his own body. Silence strains between them, but it’s the strange, soothing sort of silence Louis is reluctant to break. Still, he does because, well, he’s always had such shoddy self-restraint. “Do you fear being loved?”

“No.” A troubled look crosses his handsome features, and the pale of his irises darken just a bit. Louis doesn’t expect an explanation, but then, “I don’t understand it.”

Louis tilts his head, and murmurs in agreement, “It is rather complicated. Love is.”

“Do you? Love, I mean.” The word love sounds utterly foreign to his tongue.

“I do,” he snickers softly. “I love lots of things. I love to paint my nails, and to spoil fledglings and pups. I love…” he hesitates, then whispers shyly, “I love to laugh, and I love to fight.”

Brows knitted, the alpha frowns. It’s an expression he’s never seen the alpha wear before, it’s almost vulnerable, though Louis can’t tell how. It just is, on Harry. “I never truly learnt to love,” he admits suddenly. “I know only how to hate.”

Louis’ heart constricts, aching for the alpha who’s only ever walked alone. “Well, I think that anyone able to hate, is able to love with so much more depth. You can never fall into hate. It just consumes you. It’s different with love. At least in my experience.”

He can almost see the brilliant brain behind that pale gaze processing his words one by one. Something heated flares to life, then simmers down. “Did you ever love this _intended_ of yours?”

“Yes,” Louis acknowledges, then clarifies, “Not in the sense that I was _in love_ with him, but I loved him. I still do. At the same time, I hate him more than I hate _ahmari._ Which I know probably sounds daft to you, but–,”

“It doesn’t,” the alpha interjects quietly, though Louis prattles on nervously, “That’s just the thing about love. It lingers.”

In silent question Harry hitches one dark brow. An unbidden giggle bursts free of his lips, “As I said, love is a very complicated thing. My _marema_ used to tell me when I was a fledgling on the rare occasions I could see her, that the heart seldom listens to the brain. Love has no sense or reason. It just is.”

“It hurts, though.” It’s a statement Louis doesn’t entirely agree with.

“Sometimes because it’s the kind of thing that once it’s there, _it’s there._ Most of the time it’s quite beautiful, though. It heals better than any _new-night_ could. But, like I said, you might want to ask someone more experienced with love, like cupid of summat.”

He nods, then closes his eyes as if to dead the conversation.

“Someday,” Louis tells him softly, “someone will show you how to love again, Haz. You have no reason to believe me, I know, but I promise anyway.” 

&&

“But it’s chocolate!” Louis shrieks, scandalized. “How can you possibly _resist?”_

Leaning against the wall opposite to the door Harry just rolls his gorgeous eyes as if Louis is the one who has lost his marbles. “My point exactly, princess. It’s chocolate.”

“It’s chocolate,” he echoes, then whimpers, throwing himself onto the bed. He cranes his head to keep his stare on the alpha. “I don’t think this is working out. It’s not me, it’s you. You’re batty.”

He can’t help the thrill that runs through him when Harry chuckles throatily, amusement softening his features so nicely. His heart flutters, and his face heats up (probably a very unflattering pick by now, though the alpha will never know it). “This is serious, Styles. I’m questioning your mental state, and our entire relationship. What are we.”

It seems to take a lot of effort for Harry to contain his amusement as the laughter lurks in his pale gaze even after his features smooth back into indifference.

“What about chocolate cake?” he asks in a small, hopeful voice.

“Chocolate cake I could do with.”

Louis grins in triumph, and pumps one fist. “I knew it.”

Again, the silence they settle into is effortless. The omega basks in it, comforted by the alphas mere presence. Nothing like Aiden’s. He dreads going back to that wretched place, to that wretched alpha. Those ugly thoughts are stifled by Harry’s silence. Silence that is as loud and pure as most words.

“I hear ya,” Louis mumbles sleepily, “I really do.” He falls asleep before Harry has the chance to ask what he means.

&&

Once his captor falls into his _new-night_ it’s with whisper soft snuffles as he burrows deeper into the mattress. His cloak rides up with all the movement, revealing the curve of one leg in the skintight material that still leaves for too much to imagine. Strapped to his thigh is a dagger that gleams just enough to resemble his own. It is nothing short of stunning.

He lets his head fall back into the wall with a muted thud, disgusted with himself. As it’s their nighttime the steel guard shields the sun from his view, locking him in with his thoughts. At times, his thoughts are an out-of-tune static, but just before he can get used to it, they’re inescapably chaotic.

It’s unbearable, caging him in.

His thoughts run wild, out of his control.

Idly Harry wonders what the skin underneath the snug suit might look like tonight. Golden or porcelain, bruised or spotless.

He wonders whether the body underneath bests the beauty of the moon, or if it’s the painful sunshine sort of stunning. The sort one is warned not to look at, but just can’t seem to look away from.

He’s running his shaking hands down his face when he hears the first of the small vampire’s night terror. It’s a reoccurring thing, these night terrors. In all the night’s this strange vampire has stayed with him, the nightmares have visited as well.

He wants to crawl out of his skin more than ever when the creature’s breaths come quick and short, his panic pouring out of him in dark waves.

With no recollection as to how, the alpha finds himself standing at his captor’s bedside, reaching out on an impulse he can’t seem to smother. His fingers barely brush the cloaks before he bunches the material in his fist, and speaks with an odd note of emotion in his voice, “Quiet now, _dhraga,_ sleep soundly tonight.”

All at once the vampire startles, jerking upright with a frantic noise. He tries to ignore it, the way he says his name with the fear of a fledgling in his voice, but then he sinks into him. Harry goes rigid all over when his slim arms snake around his shoulders, and his pliant body settles against him. “Please,” he mumbles sleepy soft, tugging gently. “Please.”

A sob bleeds into his ears from the small creature’s throat, making his decision for him.

Harry gives into his weak, sleep-addled tugging to get on the bed and prop himself up on one elbow beside him. He strokes the bare skin of his hand, excruciatingly aware that his body is a bare inch from his captors. “Sleep, _solis._ You’re safe here. I’ll keep you safe.” It’s a promise he would give everything to honor.

The nameless creature’s trembling stops after a few seconds like this, and he closes the one-inch gap to press into Harry.

He just barely refrains from recoiling. It’s a sensation he’s never felt so intimately. It’s that the heat of him seeps through his cloaks, his leather suit, and the blanket to burn his skin. Impossible, yet with this one…it isn’t.

When his free hand rises out of the blanket to curl between their bodies all the wound-up energy in Harry’s body, all the thoughts, quiet.

He breathes out erratically as every warning beacon in his head flashes red. So, he keeps his distance–except for the fingers stroking his small knuckles–and watches him sink into an untroubled sleep.

✹✹

               Louis always can tell when he’s dreaming. It’s been this way since his fledgling days.

This dream is different though. There is a gravity that keeps him. This place, it’s numbing. Cold and controlled and crushing.

 _“An abomination!”_ Amid all the undertones, fragments of sound dampened by shadows of monochrome, he hears only those forceful, ugly words.

_“Father, I beg of you, this…this be a ruthral!”_

A sense of danger closing in. He fights with all the fury festering within, for this, for _her._

_“See that abomination set to the sun!”_

A roar of pain as the cost of protection, _“Dare you fight for her? My son’s allegiances appear to be at question! See to it that he learns what comes to traitors,”_ then… _agony._ Such unimaginable pain as the whips lash out to meet his flesh, paralyzing him. Screams are torn from his tiny, heaving chest, nearly drowning out the cries of a female, _“No! Stop, sire, please!”_

What follows will haunt him for the rest of his existence. 

He can’t find his limbs for a long time after, a motionless heap on the damp dungeon ground.

“Harry,” is the first sound his ears give way to once his senses have recovered enough.

A vicious shudder runs through his tiny, battered body, edged by starvation. In a panic, the fledgling sits up on his aching knees and blinks wildly as the world comes into focus again. A distance away, underneath the oculus of the vault, there is a female he knows well bound to a stone. She is beautiful even with her matted hair in a wild mess around her face and her nightgown soiled by the grimy ground. She is staring back at him, her features softening into something near to a smile.

At the sight his stomach clenches up, and whatever innards he’d managed to store, crawls up his throat and spills out onto the dirt.

He retches, feeling disgusted and disgusting, until she coos softly, _comfortingly,_ “Breathe, _arshla.”_  

He gasps and gasps until he just barely able, until his bones rattle and he can no longer feel his fingers where they are curled in the ground, the nails broken and bloody. “I’m sorry,” he heaves as hot tears spills down his face. “I’m so sorry, I’ve failed you, Gemma.”

He lifts his fuzzy stare to the female when she lets out a quiet, chiming laugh. “Harry, you’ve not failed me. You are not at fault for any of this. This is simply a sign of the times, _arshla._ I made the mistake of believing I could change this, _him._ But you... _you_ still mean everything to me. You are still so young, and I want you to love again.”

He shakes his heavy head frantically even as she carries on, “Hush now, before they hear. This be the Goddesses doing, Harry. She is here, with us now. She will guide me and my womb unto the Passing, and She shall save us all. There is a design. You must believe in this.”

“Please, Goddess, take me instead,” he prays, caved in with desperation, “leave her, leave her.” _I’m not ready to say goodbye._

“Enough. You must be strong, and keep your faith in Her as She is never wrong. You _solis_ awaits you, fledgling.” Blood is tumbling from her frantic eyes, a gory sight that shatters him worse than any other of the Executioners doings. “Please, never stop fighting. You fight for what is in your heart. Promise me. Swear it!”

He does so with no other choice as the Executioner _,_ and his loyal subjects, storm into the cell. His stare does not leave hers as hers does not leave his. It’s in those forgiving eyes, the only love he has ever known.

He ignores the Executioners next vile words _,_ “You are no daughter of mine. You are damned,” and with that he leaves them.

“I love you, Harry.”

Furiously he struggles against his restraints, panting as the panic bathes him in more than just sweat and blood. “I love you,” he says, halting all movement when the sounds of the ceiling over the female unlatching announce an inevitable tragedy.

“Nay! Nay!” he cries when she looks up with fear. “Just…look at me! Keep your eyes on me, Gemma! Look at me!”

She does so with only courage despite her tears. “I love you. Do not let this be the end of me. Goodbye, my sweet one.”

The upper limit parts to spill sunlight onto his beloved. He screams. Screams until his throat is raw, until his voice gives no more, until her ashes flitter away with an unforgiving breeze.

_Please, come back…_

As he lay there in the swamp of his misery, as he tries to breathe through the pounding of his body, he sees a female in a white robe coming unto him and wrapping him up in her tender arms. With soft words she cradles his tiny in-between body, strokes his filthy hair, and eases him.

So surely, he welcomes the vision. She is his imaginary mother. The one who loves him and wants him to be safe and warm and fed. Verily, the image of her is what keeps him alive, giving him the only peace he knows.

His heart is racing when his eyes spring open. He can tell that before his waking everything had been absolutely calm. Frighteningly controlled.

Louis blinks several times to clear the images that continue to dance in front of his bleary vision, slowly becoming aware of the fact that he is no longer alone in bed.

 _Harry._ His familiar scent calms Louis’ panic before it even starts up. Rising onto his elbow, he finds the alpha asleep on top of the sheets. One arm lays along the back of Louis’ pillow while the other is braced over his forehead. He is so still, and silent.

Louis can’t even hear him breathe.

It scares him. “Wake up.” He touches his fingers to the stubbly skin of his cheek. “You’re havin’ a nightmare.”

His large hand closes around Louis’ wrist with such unbelievable speed that he actually squeaks in surprise. Harry let’s go just as quickly. “I apologize.”

He puts the same hand on the alpha’s shoulder when it looks like he’s planning to get up. “Stay.” For a long moment filled only with the sound of his breathing, the omega doesn’t think he’ll acquiesce, but then he gives a slight nod. His chocolate curls are a frizzy mess, falling into his beautiful eyes.

Louis doesn’t move his hand, hyperconscious of the muscle and strength beneath the pale of his skin. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what.” No tremor in his voice, nothing to betray the impact of the dream that would have freaked Louis out had it really been his own.

“Your nightmare.” He knows what he saw even if he can’t explain how.

“I don’t dream.”

With a sigh Louis snuggles as close as he dares, his omega craving contact while Harry is indulging him. “Liar.”

ðð

               Harry feels his mind grind to an eerie halt at that single affectionate word. Of course, he recognizes affection, has avoided it after combat against _ahmari_ with his brothers and witnessed it countless times in the fledgling’s burrow. It’s a safe place amongst all Coven’s webs, where the young are often left unsupervised during the day. It’s an isolated area, and despite knowing that on the outer boundaries there are soldiers running the perimeter Harry never could shake the need to be there, just in case.

It just never occurred to him that he might one day be on the receiving end of the most sensual form of affection. Especially not from his nameless captor. “A dangerous accusation, princess.”

The small assassin giggles, short and breathy, then tugs at the arm he’d placed across his pillow until he can rest his head on it. He’s weightless, and yet Harry finds himself stuck underneath his touch. “I promise I won’t tell, milord,” he teases slowly. “Your lethal image is safe with me.”

It’s difficult to focus like this, with his curves pressed into him. Harry reaches into the depths of his training and forces absolute restraint over his instincts. It’s the only way he can keep from breaking something, like the creature beside him. “Why do you think I was dreaming?”

The atmosphere changes and though he can’t see who’s underneath the veils, he picks up on his distress from the sudden tenseness of his body. “Tell me.”

“I saw it.”

Those three words hit him like bullets fired at close range. He knows what he’d been dreaming of–he always remembers. “What did you see?”

“A female. She was sentenced to the sun.” It’s said in a whisper.

Harry’s brain shifts into automatic damage-control mode, spitting out option after option. At the top of the list is denial.

Denial is key to protecting the species.

Deny everything.

It’s one of the very first things Harry had been taught by the Executioner.

But he’d stopped running from the truth a long time ago. “It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.”

One of those dainty hands comes to lie on his chest. His muscles jump underneath the warm contact. “Who was she?”

He tells the truth. “My sister.”

“There is nothing of a sister in your _skrift._ ” There is no accusation in his voice, nor apprehension so Harry simply, “Aye, the Executioner had Grimshaw reject her existence from the archives.” His beloved sister lives only in his memory. It’s an old ache that will always trouble him.

“That’s a harsh punishment. What…” his voice grows faint before he finishes.

Harry wants to shut the conversation down, but knows he has kept Gemma to himself for far too long. If there be one thing he’s sure of it’s that his sister deserves more than this, deserves to be remembered for the beautiful being she was, not a ghost tale of tragedy.

She would want someone else to know, to remember.

“Gemma,” he says quietly, the name leaving a bittersweet aftertaste on his tongue. “Her name was Gemma, and she was committed for treason. She…” _Say it._ “She was lovely, the sort that was forbidden in camp. Nevertheless, everyone loved her, respected her. She was the only kindness they ever knew.” _I ever knew._ “Even the Executioner…cherished her. She was his only love, I think. You’d have thought him soft _,_ though nobody ever dared think it.” She was Harry’s only love, too. His only blessing. Losing her, was losing everything. He died with her that night.

The truth from there on had been obvious.

He had looked up from the ground at the Executioner hours after Gemma’s Passing and seen a truth that changed his life forever: his father would destroy anything and anyone Harry cleaved to for comfort. The male had done so countless times and countless ways before and would continue apace. Gemma was one footprint along an endless trail that would be well trodden.

The realization made all Harry’s pain go away. Just like that. For him, there was no utility in emotional connection, only an eventual agony when it was crushed.

He was disconnected, and to this day he _is_ disconnected. There is nothing he cannot stomach, no deed he cannot accomplish, no means he will not call forth to reach an end. He is as his father had always been.

As he thinks this his chest roars with the pain of goodbye, but the emotion is such a waste. And he feels near to nothing when he finds his voice. “It was her kindness that killed her. She fell in love with a crossbreed. Half vampire, half _ahmari._ He was the Executioners personal pet, a trophy of sorts. He was given the name Lucien. I didn’t know him, only of him, but of what my sister told me I believe he truly returned her love. She found good in him despite his blood. My sister may have been kind, but she was no fool. The day she saw the sun she came to me, confided in me her plans to elope that very sunset. It was our escape, our freedom, our new life. I don’t know exactly what happened within the hours leading up to her death. I was woken by the uproar. I discovered later that Lucien had rebelled, unable to tolerate the cruelty of his master I reckon, and was sentenced to death. Of course, Gemma tried to save him by telling of her pregnancy. She was a selfless soul, my sister. By this time Lucien was already gone, and to this day I haven’t an idea what became of him. I stopped searching for those answers.”

Anger leeches into the nameless one’s voice, the personal sort Harry doesn’t think necessary. “She was punished for loving someone who was never given a chance to…to…She was forgotten, just like that?”

“You did not question the Executioner for fear of the same fate. It was the way of things. It came and went and life carried on.”

“How could he…If he loved her like you say how could he just…” His fingers spread on his chest, beginning to stroke in a way that makes Harry’s heartbeat pick up. “I don’t understand.” He wouldn’t. Harry doesn’t expect him to, he’s fortunate to have never known the Executioner.

“The Executioner was naught but soulless calculation covered by skin, fledgling. There was truly no heart to be had. He felt near to nothing. Love is perhaps too strong a word. He lost the little he had for her the moment she gave her love to an _ahmari.”_

There is only a beat of silence. “He deserved death then.”

He doesn’t know why he’s exposing all his deepest regrets and dirtiest secrets to the person who keeps putting him through hell. “He did.” And yet dealing his death had changed his identity from a loyal warrior to that of a cold-blooded murderer.

It’d been the second time in his life that his identity had been stolen from him. He had vowed there would never be a third. “I felt nothing when I dealt to him his death. It did nothing to bring her back.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” His voice is quiet, accepting. “There was nothing you could–,”

“No, there wasn’t,” he interrupts flatly.

With his hand bearing down on Harry’s chest, the creature rises up on his elbow. “Still you’re going to beat yourself up about it forever?”

He blinks, then bites warily, “I’m not.”

A very impolite snort is his answer. “So what d’you call that nightmare?”

He is struck with the same thought. It electrifies his brain and consumes his thoughts. “What are you, sunshine?”

“I don’t know anymore,” the small vampire whispers from within the veils, an unnerving ache in his voice. “I probably never will.” And with that he leaves him, his body dissolving into thin air.

Harry can still feel his warmth, there right above his heart, for days after.

&&

Louis thinks he tolerates Harry’s mood-swings rather well, brimming with pride when the alpha finally gives up all his huffing-and-puffing. He admires him from across the room, memorizing all his little things from the line of his jaw to the beauty mark near his chin, his posture and the light dusting of hair above his lips.

Louis sighs, in awe. “How old are you, anyway, Haz?”

“Two hundred–,”

“No,” he interrupts. “I mean how old were you when you reached _post?”_

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five. Jeez, you act like an old, wrinkled-up prune. Did no one laugh in the Old Days?”

“No,” the alpha says. “Laughter was not tolerated or indulged.”

Louis can barely breathe as his words sink in, and he recalls the scars on his back.

“Never?” Harry doesn’t respond, but the omega can feel the turmoil inside him. Pain. Confusion. Shame. He knows just how this alpha is seen among the Clans, nobody dares get too close to him and he never dares to get close to anyone else. Maybe Harry deserves that, but deep inside Louis doesn’t believe it.

People don’t close themselves off from the world without reason. No one is happily this stoic.

And in that moment, he realizes something. It’s his defense mechanism. Louis gets brash and wild whenever he is out of sorts or uncomfortable.

Harry turns cold. Formal.

This is his façade.

“Sorry if I said anything that offended you earlier. Z often tells me that I’ve made offending people an art form.”

A smile tugs at the edges of his lips and, if he doesn’t miss his guess, his eyes soften ever so slightly. “I was not offended, princess.”

“Ace.”

&&

Harry is tempted to continue like this, talking to this strange creature, but he feels uncomfortable with the thought of it. He’s never been the kind of male others chatted with. Even as a _pre_ , his conversations consisted of being insulted or bashed with no words required on his part. Never chit-chat, not even with his brothers of death-dealers.

His conversations with omegas had been even fewer than his conversations with alphas. Not even the Queen had ever truly spoken to him. They had passed political comments, but she had never shared her opinions with him. Merely agreed with him and did as he asked concerning the Clans.

There’s something about him, though…

“Have you always been so outspoken?” he asks before he can help himself.

“I know no other way.”

Suddenly a tune Harry has never heard starts playing from the phone he’s balanced on his knee.

The thing lets out a small squeak of happiness, and blurs to his feet, tying the cloaks at his waist in an odd knot. “I love this song.” Harry finds it hard to focus on much of anything except the sway of his hips as he dances and sings to the song.

“C’mon, dance with me!” he says at the first guitar solo. He approaches suddenly to take his hand. His hand is warm, the kind that spreads up his arm to his chest. Its freaking him out. He is freaking Harry out.

“This isn’t dancing music.”

“Sure it is,” his captor giggles before he breaks into the chorus. In spite of himself, Harry’s greatly amused by this vampire. In all his lifetime, he’s never known anyone who enjoys life so much, who takes such pleasure from something so simple.

“C’mon,” he tries again when the singing pauses. “It’s a brilliant song. You have to admire how it gets me goin’.”

Harry…laughs.

The small ghost assassin pauses. “Oh, my Goddess, he really does know how to laugh!”

“I know how to laugh,” Harry mutters.

He pulls him forward just to continue dancing. He lets go, snaps his fingers and twists down, then rises back up. “One day, I reckon you’re going to bust out of that hand-polished shell and actually cut loose. It’s not all about the waltz, Haz, sometimes it’s about shaking that arse.”

Harry clears his throat and tries to imagine such a thing. It isn’t possible.

Anytime he has ever tried to be anything other than what he is, someone else has paid a terrible price for it. He has learnt by now to stay as he is.

It’s all for the best.

“I can play some slow jams, if you insist,” the small one placates, oblivious to Harry’s private uproar. It’s only when he resettles in his previous spot on the floor that the ghost mutters, “Or not.”

Catching on, he cuts the music short and tosses the phone back on the bed to gracefully sink down to his knees in front of him. “What d’you think happens to use when we reach the Passing?”

He doesn’t expect the sudden topic change, but it’s something he’s thought about since his fledgling days. “I don’t know.”

“You must have one theory…” Still the alpha says nothing.

“I’d like to be star,” there’s a wonder in his voice that is sweet. “I’d be a rather handsome star.”

A smile tugs at his lips until Harry reminds himself that such talk is empty. “What will it matter? We will know nothing when we are gone.”

“Or maybe I’d like a rebirth,” the creature carries on as if he hadn’t spoken.

This takes him by surprise, he doesn’t understand. “Why would you want that?”

“I realize I am going to die young. I expect and accept this. So, I know I won’t get to do all the things I want to, and there are a very many. If I get to live again I might have that chance.” _I expect and accept this…_

He doesn’t like the sound of any of that. Something heavy and hard sits on his chest. “What are all those things?” he asks only to distract himself from the sensation.

“I dunno,” he sounds sheepish and wistful. “I’d fight only for what is right, and help more than I hurt. I’d be free. Really, I don’t know. I’ve no idea and I think not knowing is what’s wonderful. There is so much to hope for, dream of.”

“You’re a dreamer,” he says.  

“Aren’t you?” He doesn’t think he’s meant to answer so he doesn’t. He waits for an explanation, and of course his abductor never fails to mystify him. “Real life is stranger than dreams y’know.”

For the rest of the night Harry tries to make sense of it all, wanting deeply to understand. It’s all still so far out of sight. It’s not in his nature to give up though.

Someday he will get it.

Someday.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd another!  
> Dani xx

Louis has been rambling for exactly ten minutes when Harry folds his arms around his knees and buries his face there. “I need quiet.” He’s confused by this, and goes to ask when Harry mutters, “I need it, princess.”

Just this once Louis surrenders and settles down. As if it’s so simple, in the few heartbeats that follow Harry’s shoulders relax, and he can feel all the alpha’s animosity drifting away his body.

He puts all his effort and focus on his best behavior, expressing his happiness that Harry had spoken to him rather than _at_ him in a stretch of silence.

Of course, it’s not long before the omega is nearly crawling out of his skin, fidgeting with his cloaks and then his gloves, chewing on his bottom lip then his knuckles, on the brink of madness when the alpha lifts his head from his arms.

With an eerie composure, and a ghost of a smile on his lips, he inclines his head to him, and speaks surely, like he’s been reciting these words for hours, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Louis sucks on his bottom lip to keep from disagreeing. Harry just continues, with the slightest hint of an accent, one no doubt from the Old days, with an strange lilt, “Sometimes it is better to sit quietly and let the world go by.” What philosophical bullshit.

Of course, he doesn’t agree, but some soft part of him relates. It’s how Harry copes, he lives in the silence and that’s what keeps him sound inside.

“Any time, Haz.”

As soon as the pet name is out of his mouth the alpha stiffens. “My name is Harry.”

Louis looks at him dryly. “I refuse to call you Harry. Jeez, it sounds so serious. Every time I hear it I think of Prince Harry, and then I start to think about that film _When Harry Met Sally_ and believe me you don’t want me to go there. So, to save my sanity from that sappy romcom, and images of human royalty, you can be Haz or Babycakes.”

His gaze darkens. “My name is Harry and I will not answer to Haz.”

Unfazed, Louis shrugs. “Fine then, Babycakes, have it your way.”

Leaning forward just a bit Harry opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but must know better by now. Louis has a way of doing just as he pleases, all arguments be damned. “Very well,” the alpha mutters grudgingly. “I shall endure Haz only in captivity, and only from you.”

Thrilled, Louis smiles victoriously. “See how painless was that? Why would you dislike Haz anyway?”

“It’s soft.”

Which, _of course._ “You must really be fun in bed,” Louis mumbles sarcastically.

It’s funny to see how stunned Harry seems by his words. “What.”

Louis snickers into his hand, then says casually, “’M just wondering what it would be like to make love to a male who is so concerned about being rigid and–then again, no. I can’t imagine someone so stuffy getting down and dirty.”

He visibly bristles, his scowl quite impressive. “I’ve never heard a complaint.”

“Really?” he prods airily. “Then you must be laying with omegas who are so cold you could freeze ice cubes on them.”

“We’re not having this discussion.”

Louis gives him no reprieve, turning his attention to where he’d balanced his dagger on his knee. “Were you like this in the Old Days? I mean, from everything I’ve heard, you warriors were raw with sexuality.”

“Talk is cheap, princess.”

“So, were you always this uptight?” Louis presses bluntly, busying himself with scrolling through his playlist.

“Forming an attachment, are we?”

Louis thinks it’s meant to spite him, with how Harry’s curling his lip, but it’s really just…relieving to have it out in the open. “Yes,” he admits shamelessly. “I’m trying to figure out what made you like you are now, Haz. You’re so closed off, you’re barely human.”

That sad something Harry carries around surfaces in his stare before it retreats to lock on the moon overhead. “None of us are human, sunshine. And in case you’ve not noticed, I’m one of the damned.”

“Haz, open your eyes and look around,” Louis giggles, shaking his head at the silliness of it all. “We’re all damned in one way or another. But damned is a far cry from dead. And you live like you’re dead.”

“I’m that, too.”

Louis can’t help but snort. “For a dead bloke you look remarkably fit.”

His face hardens. “You don’t know me, princess. Whatever you think you learnt through spying on me is wrong.”

Well, honest, he thinks he knows enough but decides to relent on that bit. “No, I don’t. But the question is, do you know you?”

“I’m the only one who truly does,” Harry states quietly, seeming to have accepted this. That simple sentence tells Louis everything he needs to know about Harry Styles. He feels as alone as he is. “You know what, though…I know you too. Perhaps not in the real-world sense, but I know what is real on the inside.” Louis cringes, and wants to lash out against him, feeling unnaturally violated and invaded.

When he reaches for his blade, the alpha asks, “May I finish before you get violent?”

And well neither of them are shocked that his curiosity bests his pride.

Louis purses his lips, and waits until, “You go only where your heart suggests, and you aren’t a rebel because you wish to be, you simply have that sort of spirit.” It’s the longest sentence Louis’ ever heard. From Harry Styles, no less. “You’re a wanderer. You claim you love to love, but it would break you to be tied down to anything. You are the most innocent wild shot I’ve ever known to exist. You were born for leaving, not a strict society like ours. There will never be a love strong enough to make you stay. You always think tomorrow will be different, but you are never going to change. You think it a curse, but if you are to take anything from what I’m saying, it is that you are a gift. By default, I despise you, but I will more so when you’ve gone away.”

The alphas words strike him like a stake to the brain. His mind feels stunted, slow and out of order, but his body’s reactions are immediate.

His hands begin to tremble, and his blood becomes lava, swallowing his heart whole.

He knows what’s happening. He’s losing himself, falling into that chasm of love he knows he will never find a way out of. All this time Louis has been fighting those truths, and trying to set them to the sun, and now that is no more.

He feels lost, exposed and like a fledgling under the awareness in Harry’s pale stare.

Everything Louis loves ends up a disaster, and he does not trust himself anymore.

He wants to curl in on himself, instead he lurches at the alpha at fault with a furious noise to beat at his chest with his fists. He only falls apart when Harry whispers, restraining him with his strong hands around his wrists. “You are sweet, and you are wholehearted because you are strong, sunshine.” He can feel all the brokenness of his mind and his heart crawling up his throat in a sob. All the fight leaves him in a rush, he just claws at his skin helplessly, unsure of what to do anymore. “It is special.”

“It’s unnatural,” his voice breaks.

He can feel the weight of Harry’s free hand between his shoulder blades, just as he can feel the solid wall of his chest. He gasps greedily into his skin. He does not feel overwhelmed, or caught in a spider’s web. He feels grounded, like he’s finally catching his breath. “Something special lives in you.”

_Something special lives in you._

He will keep those words in his heart for as long as it beats.

&&

               Louis returns to Harry’s prison three days later with determination. Gracelessly, due to his body’s injured state, not meeting Harry’s gaze, the omega approaches him to sit with his legs tucked underneath his bum so they’re face-to-face. He opens his palm to reveal the talisman there and demands, “Do you know what this is?”

“Where did you get that?” he asks tersely, giving no other reaction.

He observes the item for the first time up close, it’s archaic that much he can tell. Engraved around the ruby jewel center is a language he’s never seen before. There’s something about the thing that sets him on edge. “I went hunting last night. I’ve been monitoring a hoard for some time now. They’ve been guarding this, and I went through hell to get my hands on it.” _Literally,_ he is sure a few ribs are broken, and his arm is in shit shape. “Please,” he mutters tiredly, closing his hand around it. “I don’t know who else to ask.”

His vision is flooded by the green of Harry’s irises, and more than anything else he just wants to crawl into his lap, so he can finally fall into his _new-night,_ and hopefully heal. His body is all nerves and pressure, the agony nearing unbearable.

Reality starts to get away from him, but he can’t pass out as Harry’s voice demands all his attention, “I’m not certain, but it looks like the key.”

“The key?” Louis presses, slightly annoyed by how answers must always be drawn out of the alpha.

“To William’s prison.” He knows of William, the father of all shifters. Centuries before Louis’ time the Elder had been sentenced to eternal containment by the Clans. In all his centuries of freedom William had infected millions of humans to the beasts of the night, those incapable of shifting, those only ruled by the need to survive, possessing the hearts and minds of bloodthirsty animals with dangerous potential.

Marcus, his brother, father of all vampires, never quite recovered from it, only able to agree on the terms that William be kept alive.

“What could they want with this…” he hears himself muse. “Setting William free–,”

“They do not wish to set him free,” Harry’s voice overpowers his. “They wish to kill him.”

Louis goes cold all over, distress screaming in his tummy as it comes together in his head. “Because if they kill William it’s more than likely they’ll end the existence of all lycan’s, if not all shifter breeds.”

“You have to return it to the Clans.”

Louis recoils, knives of betrayal stabbing him in the sides. He bares his fangs out of defensive habit. “Piss off, Styles. There is no way I’m returning it to the ones who lost it in the first place.”

“They probably haven’t any idea it’s missing,” Harry says, more to himself Louis thinks. “Grimshaw is the keeper of all relics.”

Anger flares to life in his chest, turning his vision crimson. “He gave it to them.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” the alpha says calmly. “Take it to the Clans for them to sort all this out.”

Louis is floored by how Harry can even say that, how he can turn on everything he stands for. “You know better than just about anyone else what nasty things Grimshaw is capable of. He’s worked his way up to a trustworthy servant, and they will figure some way to dismiss this. This will just keep happening until it’s too late, Harry.”

Recognition comes to life in Harry’s stare and anxiety crawls down the line of his spine.

Louis clenches his teeth, but otherwise does not react or respond, forcing the alpha to break the silence. “This is personal in some way, is it not? How has he wronged you?”

He flinches away from the question. “No.”

Harry doesn’t respond aside from a growl that Louis thinks is meant to be menacing but only does that thing to his body. Nonetheless, he lets him have his tantrum, brooding time, thoughts consumed with putting all these puzzle pieces together.

He feels the words hanging above his head, but only acknowledges the list he’s formulated.

One: there are hoards that have gone undiscovered by the death-dealers despite their sheer size. Two: the death-dealer division under Harry’s control is meant to monitor such things. Three: he has seen it.

He has seen it in one of the dreams that weren’t his. As of two nights ago Louis had learnt his dreams have never been his own at all. He’s always had such vivid dreams, all of which never made sense to him until experiencing Harry’s. This is because they’ve never been his.

Two nights ago, Louis’ dream was Aiden’s. He couldn’t tell at first, trapped in the nightmare that is Aiden’s mind. A mind possessed by the need for power, and the pain of others. He feeds on it, and Louis could only feel sated, relieved of an enormous despair, when Amelia of the Clans’ throat was ripped out by an _ahmari._ His gratification of the enemy being so close, but doing his bidden all the same.

Of course, Louis remembers receiving the news of Amelia’s train being attacked by _ahmari_ nearly a year ago. He, like everyone else, thought it a coincidence, an unlucky change of fate, but that dream had revealed something dark and ugly.

Aiden is sabotaging the species, and others are following him in this twisted scheme. There is no loyalty within the manor anymore, perhaps not even within the species. 

That night Louis had woken up feeling dirty, and had scrubbed his skin raw for hours after before he could feel himself again.

“You’re being quiet,” Harry’s voice pierces his reverie. “It’s unsettling.”

“It’s all just worse than I thought…I think it’s too late to make it right,” Louis whispers, shaken by just the memory of the dream. “Everything is so corrupt. I don’t know what I’m to do at this point, Harry.”

He sounds agitated, and Harry must hear it too as his hand comes down on Louis’ knee, thumbing in small circles. The omega hangs his head and focuses on his touch, breathing out raggedly, “This is so much bigger than me.”

“Tell me.”

He almost does. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t, Haz.”

He can feel Harry pulling away, retreating again, and it panics him. Louis clings to him, and speaks frantically, “Please don’t shut me out. You don’t understand, it’s complicated.”

“This involves me just the same. These are _my people_ and you’re holding me in a cell when I should be fighting for them. You will be the death of me.”

Louis sighs, and cups his jaw, ignoring how he flashes his fangs. “These _are_ your people. They _do_ need you, but they will need you more when this is over. You are _their solis._ You are more than just a war machine, don’t you see? You embody our faith _._ Without you, we have nothing else. And that is why you are here.”

“I’m an Executioner _,_ all I bring is death. Death is life for me. There is no more, no less for me.”

He shakes his head, and laughs in disbelief. “That’s not true. You do for Her _,_ Harry. You–,”

“Listen, princess, _She_ has given me nothing. I do nothing for Her _._ This life is a basis of survival, and that is all. I lost faith a long time ago. Preach to someone else.”

He loses him like that, and wonders if Harry can hear his heart breaking just as clearly as Louis can. If so, he must not care, cold and aloof. “I still believe in you, even if you do not believe in yourself. Just as I believe in Her _._ ”

He can see all the rage in the red of his eyes. His voice is blank though. “Fuck you both then.”

&&

On his next visit, just days later, Louis can tell Harry is still put out. In fact, he feels as though they are back to square one, sagging with sadness.

He keeps up his usual optimistic front, to nearly no avail. Harry says all of two words to Louis’ twenty.

He wants to reach out to him, to close the space and tell him how badly he doesn’t want to be his enemy, but can sense that he needs to allow him his space.

Harry just isn’t used to interacting with people like him…then again, few are.

As Zayn’s _marema_ , the gypsy seer of the royals, always said, Louis tends to come on to people like a freight train and mow them down where they stand.

He gets to his feet, thinking in defeat _maybe I shouldn’t come back._

And then, as if he’d spoken his thoughts (he really hadn’t), “Will you be back tonight?”

“I don’t think so,” Louis says honestly, with his back still to the alpha. 

There is a fleeting pause, and when Harry responds it’s almost inaudibly, “Come back tonight.”

“Okay,” he sighs tiredly.

ZZ

A male of his word, the omega does return that very day just before sunrise. He stands outside the door for a long time, preparing for the worst, bracing himself for the emotional toll tonight is bound to take on his already fragile state.

At some point Louis shores up the courage to step inside.

It’s nothing he’d been expecting. He isn’t greeted by Harry’s anger, nor is he greeted with a fight, though the alpha appears to have been waiting for him, standing as close to the door as the shackles allow.

Louis tilts his head a little, but doesn’t question, just goes through the motions.

Once all is secure he has no choice but to face Harry. “What happens now?”

“I’m tired but I…can’t sleep.” _Alone_ goes unsaid.  

Louis is startled, and almost thinks the alpha is fucking with his head, but there is a nervous air about him that leaves no room for doubt. He keeps running his hand through his hair, and avoiding any eye contact.

He doesn’t hesitate to step in front of him, compassion calling to his omega. He lays his hand on the flat expanse of his toned stomach, feeling the muscles bunch under his touch. “I hate sleeping alone,” his voice comes soft, in a hush. He watches him exhale a single heavy breath before taking the hand Louis has on his stomach. It’s warm, and trembles so slightly Louis almost misses it. 

For the alpha’s sake, he pretends not to notice, just uses that hand to tow him to the vacant bed. Louis crawls in first, and sighs happily when Harry settles on his back beside him, though stiffly.

“You’ll never fall asleep like that,” he mumbles quietly after this goes on another ten minutes.

Turning his head, the alpha is all furrowed brows and frustration. “I don’t understand.”

Louis thinks there is a lot Harry doesn’t understand, and this deeply dismays him.

To shake the feeling the omega sits up in a rush, shedding his gloves and tossing his boots onto the floor. In the same motion, he straddles the death-dealer’s waist, leaning in to bury his face in the slope between Harry’s shoulder and neck. He runs his fingers through his hair, the strands soft and tangled. “It’s okay, Haz, just be here with me,” he says softly, nosing at his skin. He is helpless to how Harry’s scent drugs his mind, leaving him languid and out of touch with reality.

In the heartbeats that follow all the hard lines of his body ease into the mattress, and Louis feels rather than hears the sound he’s making. A purr or a hum of satisfaction, he doesn’t know, but for whatever reason it floods his omega with joy. Oh, the habits of Louis’ heart, they will be the death of him.

“Why’d you stop sleeping?” he can’t help but ask.

“Waste of time.” His voice is rough with an edge of drowsiness that Louis finds quite endearing.

But Louis knows better, knows _Harry._ “There’s more, though.”

“You can never just let anything be, can you, princess.” He sounds amused, though. “I became tired of reliving all the worst parts of the past.” Of losing Gemma, Louis adds inwardly.

“Like,” he prompts anyway, afraid to hear the answer. It’s in his voice, too, that fear, and he’s sure Harry’s heard it as his hand comes up to run down his back like it is Louis who needs comfort.

“Being beaten, humiliated, or forced to do nasty things to myself and to others.” His heart shrivels up, fisted by grief for the young fledgling Harry who never known kindness or care long enough to heal. Only cruelty and pain.

In these moments with him Louis wishes he could take away his pain, wishes he could trade places. He knows that Nyx has a funny way, so he isn’t complaining, but while he still has Harry here Louis hopes he can hear his unspoken words.

More than anything Louis wants him to hear it.

_Don’t give up. Don’t give up on us. I won’t stop loving you ever, I won’t give up on you ever. Fight for me. If you can fight for nothing else, fight for me. I would die for you. I would die without you. I’ll never give up on you._

_If the Goddess ever calls your name, please tell Her you’re staying…_

No tangible words leave his mouth and yet, “Hush now, sunshine. Sleep.”

Louis nods, but this time he can’t seem to find sleep as easy as Harry does.

&&

Louis leaves Harry shortly after he’s woken. He’s been killing his butterflies ever since Styles opened his damn eyes. They’d been the softest shade of green, a little doe from sleep. He’d been delighted by Harry keeping him awhile there on his chest, and even more so by his sleep addled drawl, “Don’t ask for more, princess.”

Once he’s showered Louis dresses in the main wing of the Creeds safe zone when Zayn appears. “Grimshaw has someone out for you.”

This doesn’t surprise him. This isn’t the first time Grimshaw’s hired for him–the old bastard never learns. All these times Louis was never found, returning by his own free will. That is Grimshaw’s way though, always having others do his dirty work.

Louis bends to zip his boots, giving no visible reaction. “I always enjoy a good game of cat-and-mouse.”  

“You’re treating this too lightly,” Zayn says sharply. “Quit trying to be the hero.”  

Louis straightens and tosses him his most suggestive smirk. “You’re right. I’d make a proper damsel in distress. I’ll find the nearest high tower.”

“You’re a proper pain in the arse is what you are.”

“I ought to be with that creep,” he mutters, starting to arm himself when Zayn takes his hand. His best mate’s amber eyes are soft as they regard him. They share something Louis couldn’t ever define, this thing that has always lain between the two of them. Not between the son of the Empress and the son of a great political power, but between Louis and Zayn. Something Louis values more than most anything.

See when he was three Zayn was born and when he was six Zayn was three. He is more than just his best friend, they grew up just like brothers.

He kisses him softly on the mouth fleetingly–familiar with the feel and way of it, of Zayn, having grown up with this show of affection in the species. Such contact is normal for them, albeit for special sentiments. “Thank for you looking out for me. I know it isn’t easy on you, having to go back there.” To the manor. Louis knows the feeling and hates sending Zayn in there knowing for him it’s worse than being sent into an _ahmari_ hoard.

Zayn plants another kiss on his mouth then sighs, “You know how I feel, _arshla.”_

Louis does, not because Zayn’s told him over and over but because of moment’s like this. He senses Liam’s sudden arrival, smiling when Zayn’s lycan mate huffs, “why must I always find you two in compromising positions?”

“Because he was mine first,” Louis quips happily when Zayn pulls away to greet his mate.

Liam laughs a loud, howling sound. Louis loves that laugh, and understands why Zayn is so madly in love with Liam. He has kind eyes, and most importantly: he loves his vampire companion unconditionally. “Well he’s mine now,” the lycan growls playfully, laying a possessive hand on Zayn’s hip.

“For the best,” Louis says darkly. “I’m no good for ‘im.”

“You’re no good for anyone,” Zayn is all dry humor. “Except Styles. Goddess knows that’s a match made of the moon.” He doesn’t know whether that’s true or not, but thrives on the hope it brings to his naïve heart.

He smiles bright, and pulls the veils over his face to hide it. “More talk, less play. Come now. Let's get down to business.”

Still there is a lot more play then there probably should be, but it makes this grave situation he’s been buried in lighter.

His skin feels thicker as the day comes to an end, and so he promises when the sun comes up he’ll be there to greet it.

&&

               He doesn’t see the ghost assassin again for more than six _new-nights._ Or so he figures, time hasn’t gotten any easier to differentiate.

His alpha lurks just below the surface of his skin, strengthening his every sense. It’s all too vivid; especially the slight fragrance that is lingering in the air, captivating all the coldest parts of his brain. It’s a scent his alpha will never forget, too rich and potent.

It captures all of him, seductive and unavoidable as an incubus’ lure. He burns for it, would walk straight into sunlight to get to its source.

In a matter of hours Harry’s succumbed to his body’s reality. He knows this feeling, is well acquainted with it. He’d lost track of his rut’s due date, but the diamond hard problem tenting the trousers he’d been forced into says it all.

He decides to do nothing about it, refusing to be reduced to a circus clown for his captor to delight in.

He sits in his skin proudly even as the need metastasizes like a human’s cancer. It’s demanding an out.

It’s that bloody scent, he thinks furiously, it’s contaminated the air and has made it near impossible to breathe. That must be why he’s overheating, his hair sticking to his sheen face.

Madly, he considers quitting the rote in and out of his breaths altogether. Yes, he has made some terrible life choices, but by far this might be the worst: he keeps breathing, slave to his alpha’s fixation.

He wonders once again what the point in playing a game you’re bound to lose is. It’s just yet another waste of time. Then again so is existence if you are not doing for your people.

His stare is drawn to the full moon overhead, bright and far out of reach. His heart slows ever so slightly, reassured by the night’s presence. It’s a fleeting luxury. He is spiraling out of control, his thoughts losing all meaning, all reason.

Unsheathing his fangs, the alpha pierces his wrist cleanly; his blood trickles pathetically into his mouth. He’s almost delusional enough to believe it’s not his own. This fails just as miserably. He tears away too carelessly, blood staining his mouth before the wounds can stitch back together. Well at least now he looks as feral as he feels.

Someone is going to bleed out for this.

He doesn’t get to plot out his torture as the door slides open. The thick scent of cherries is offensive and disgusting as the cloaked vampire prances into his prison. “I humbly offer this pie as a peace treaty for my abrupt abandonment! I even made it meself just for you!” Preoccupied with his security measures the small creature doesn’t seem to notice his condition. “Very well, I didn’t make the bloody pie. So what! It’s still delicious I’m quite sure! Though I’ll admit I’m not very fond of pie so I wouldn’t possibly know. You’ll have to tell me. If you’re feeling charitable enough to eat this morning, I mean.”

A growl forces its way up his throat, but Harry clenches his teeth so hard his canines slice through his bottom lip as if doing so could mute the sound. Instead, it just sounds like someone is dying.

Obviously not expecting this the small vampire whirls around and finally catches the scent his body’s emitting. He gasps, “Oh! Oh, sweet pie! This was not supposed to happen! Stop this!”

He struggles to keep in place, rather than crossing the room to snap his little neck or force the pie down his throat. “Stop biology? That makes such perfect sense, princess. Why didn’t I think of that? I will get right…on it.”

“At least there’s pie,” his captor whispers sheepishly, holding up his _peace treaty pie._

Harry inhales through his nose with the purpose of staying calm.

Doing so backfires spectacularly as that soft, nearly indistinct fragrance roars in his nose. His instincts go wild; the scent is singing to him, straight from the small creature who huffs and sets the pie on the floor, his hands gesticulating madly as he rambles on about something Harry can’t even hear around the drum of his heartbeat.

And then everything snaps into focus when the creature has the audacity to close some space between them, just enough to be in reach, and ask impatiently, “Hello, Harry, have you been listening to a thing I’ve said?” It’s a question Harry hates _:_ one with only wrong answers. 

“Get away.” He gives him the chance to escape. Goddess above, he does _._

“ _I said–,”_

With a vengeance, his alpha rips free of his restrictions. He lunges at him, effectively ensnaring in his arms. His slim figure is soft in all the right ways against him. He feels so much like an omega, and smells even better.

Growls build in his chest. “You smell…” sinful, like sunlight. He imagines if sunlight has a scent this is it.

Recovering quickly the omega starts to struggle with all his strength. “No! Paws _off,_ comrade! I don’t smell! I take regular showers unlike some!”

He glares at the veils, willing them to disappear as his hand sneaks between the cloaks until his fingers grip the sharp jut of his hip in the skintight material of his little suit. As an afterthought Harry removes the guns he can reach, tossing them to the corner then yanking on the tiny vampire. He sprawls out against his chest with such a pretty gasp. A shudder runs through him at the sound though he acts as his alpha, baring his fangs. “Be. Still.”

“Ugh! Don’t use that… _tone_ with me!” he shrieks breathily, like his back isn’t bowing beautifully under Harry’s hand.

Grounding his hips against the flat expanse of his concealed belly, the alpha muffles his groan in the veils. All that scent is caught in the material, intoxicating him with every breath. He’s just as possessed as he is possessive.

He doesn’t know where his mind is, not when his hands are memorizing the curves and hallows of a body that’s melting. “Haz, c’mon, I…” his breaths are becoming gasps, rapid and short. When those soft, sun-kissed hands contact his skin it’s an explosion of sensation, and he doesn’t think it’s the malnourishment that has him sinking to his knees.

He feels like caving in and breaking and knows leaving himself open like that would be a mistake. But he’d be so lost without the heat of the creature he’s holding in his arms. The creature who is twisting and tugging at his hair as if to separate them.

“No,” he rasps in a gritty voice, nosing at the wrist of the hand in his hair. “Sunshine, stay.”  _Please, stay. I’m tired of being alone._

“Sunshine…go! Haz, don’t do this.”

“Mine,” his voice is all alpha timbre, staking an unbreakable claim on his enemy.

“Haz,” his sweet voice has a cadence to it that matches how his body trembles. It takes all the will power he possess to form words rather than actions. “Don’t say no, sunshine. I can’t let you go. I…” he exhales unevenly, his hand clamping down on his hip again. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Stay with me. I’ll give you anything.” There are certain lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. He crosses them just like that. He’s gone his whole life without begging, endured cruelty and welcomed death. And in the span of time with this strange vampire it’s all been torn apart. He can’t say when his hatred became something else, something fatally dangerous.

“Anything?” Right now, he doesn’t regret it, and he would never take it back.

“ _Name it.”_

“Fledglings,” the small assassin’s voice is a tiny, needy mewl. It’s his undoing. He blurs against gravity to a stance and ruts against him before forcing his petite body around so his cock is pressed just above the full, luscious arse hidden beneath cloaks. His hands settle on his belly, raging with the idea of breeding him. There’s no limit on how far he’d go, no boundaries or lengths. “You want fledglings, _dhraga?_ You can have mine. I’ll knot you over and over until you’re all mine. Only mine.” 

A delicious whimper spills from the small vampire, the word “yes _”_ drawing it out. He wants to hear him scream as his knot locks in his body, and pumps him full of fledglings. With purpose, his hands slide up his compact, heaving chest in search of the zipper to his little scanty piece. He runs the metal down his front until it’s end, so low at the cradle of his hips. When his hands finally make it onto soft, smooth skin the small vampire arches with a small sigh, head falling onto his shoulder.

Anticipation fires through his veins as he caresses the soft hollow of his slim middle, around to the low of his spine until squeezing the flesh of one perky handful of his ass. He mutters something in his native tongue, something of worship and longing before dipping his fingers where they belong.

Underneath his touch the small vampire’s swollen flesh flutters. It’s like heated honey, the omega’s slick is. Sticky, and warm, and so sweet. He prods at the heat of him even as he tenses, whining like he needs _,_ and leaning back into him hesitantly. He doesn’t mean to be so brutal, but it’s his nature _._ It’s all he knows _._

He sinks his middle finger into his sweet little hole with force, and speaks hoarsely into his shoulder, “You’re going to feel so good around my knot, aren’t you, princess _?_ You’re such a good boy. _”_  Goddess above he _is;_ hot and unbelievably tight, clenched up as a feeble hiss leaves his lips and his body shies away from the invasion.

He waits only seconds before the omega sighs, the sound heavy and becoming a reedy whine. Overwhelming, all around him, his fragrance blooms. He is all too aware of how perfect his insides feel, and, “Mine,” he whispers raggedly. He doesn’t know anything outside of this, him _._ He builds a rhythm with the one, going for the sacred bundle of nerves.

An innocent, frantic noise (moan, scream, _so bloody beautiful)_ comes from the creature in the cloaks, who tenses then trembles uncontrollably. Just like that, so naïve his body gives into his attention, and Goddess, he weighs nothing in Harry’s arms, mumbling incoherently. He buries his face in the veils and keeps a slow, stretching rhythm, all the while jabbing at his sweet spot. With every brush, the vampire _‘uh’s’_ and pants until breaking out desperately, _“don’t stop, please, I need you. I need I–,”_ He feels it vividly, how he spirals into his orgasm, whimpering helplessly.

“Mine,” the word is a holy sin, running rampant from his tongue until the small creature just lets him have.

On fire Harry’s head spins slightly, hotwiring like he’s the one who’s just lost himself to the creature in his arms. He probably has because he knows this creature is no good, but Goddess, _he feels so good._

A phantom of pleasure has his cock expanding at the base when the small assassin purrs all feline satisfaction. It’s just as he’s nuzzling him, delighting in how his scent melds so sweetly with the other’s that the spell is broken by his slightly slurred and sleepy voice, “Lemme touch you, Haz.”

He wants to let him do whatever he wants. He wants to lose himself between his legs. He’s spellbound, an alpha of the worst kind.

Slave to him Harry shudders and retracts his hand to run it, damp and sticky with slick, over his hips, palming at them before the vampire breaks away from him. He scrambles.

In an animal’s mindset Harry tilts his head and regards his prey, a shaken little thing who crouches nervously to retrieve the pie from earlier. “Sunshine,” he says the word slowly, “Stay.”

The achingly vulnerable vampire is almost begging. “Harry, c’mon. This isn’t you. You hate me remember?”

“You belong to me.”

“I belong to no one.”

“Princess.”

“Haz, I have pie,” it’s a giddy giggle. “I have pie and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Harry closes in, attempting to round his slim waist in one arm. With a shriek, his cloaked captor scrambles backwards and hurls the pie at his face.

Pie. Pie _everywhere._

Blinding him the sticky, crummy pie slaps him, then slides to the floor with a slimy sound. He snarls, outraged as the taste of cherries thickens on his tongue.

Harry blinks slowly, only to find the vampire has made his way to the exit and is already reaching for the keys. Harry yanks viciously against the chains, straining with a newfound purpose.

This time it’s not working–the chains give no indication of budging from the wall. He bares his cherry stained teeth, and tries because defeat is not an option. He keeps slipping on the pie’s residue that is until his knees are slamming down on the tile. Harry takes another approach. “Don’t go, princess. Come back. Let me give you what you want.” His alpha timbre lingers in the charged air as the vampire takes an involuntary step forward.

In his right mind Harry knows his captor is too strong to surrender to any timbre, but his alpha can’t stand the defiance.

Stubbornly the other catches himself, all but flying back into the door. “I can’t, ‘m sorry,” he hiccups, sounding so torn Harry wants to rip himself to shreds for causing him such distress.

“ _Dhraga,”_ he rasps with an eerie anxiety. “Don’t go.” 

“Fledglings.” There’s so much wonder in that tiny voice.

“Aye,” he’s not beyond it. He’s _throbbing_ for it. “You’re mine.” And he is. Harry can smell the heady scent his own skin is emitting, the scent of bonding. A dark, earthy scent meant only for the one who’s keeping him.

_What have I done._

He sways in his cloaks, as if overwhelmed by the thought of it. Harry is intoxicated by it; the need like nothing he’s ever known before. “Knot me?”

“Right now. Come here, princess _,_ let me.”

With an entirely too hurt noise, one that Harry almost shares, the tiny assassin types in the code only mumbling madly, “I can’t. I can’t, Haz, I can’t.”

He wants to shout, but all that emerges is the hoarse, frantic growl of a caged in animal.

The last Harry sees of his retreating figure is the cloaks. He puts his head in his hands and screams. He screams until his voice gives out. He screams until he isn’t on the verge of breaking into something he is not.

And still he doesn’t escape him; the scent lingers, clinging to him as the vicious need batters through him. Batters _at him._

With nothing else Harry forgets what it feels to regret his sins. 

&&

               With no other option, Harry lives in a rancid, instinctive state. His awareness of anything flickers in and out often. He is more imprisoned by his own mind than anything else. Ultimately, it’s his own hatred that revives him. It comes as no surprise–he learnt long ago that the only person you could rely on is yourself. It’s just the way of the world.

With the taste of narcotic infested blood thick on his tongue, Harry grimaces. He’s disgusted by the taste, but does not regret how it got there at all. The mutt had reeked of _his_ scent, triggering a bullet through any semblance of morality he’d preserved. He had crossed the threshold into the sociopathic reserve in his brain until that thick throat was working underneath his hand. He’d smashed the male’s face into the nearest wall, rewarded by brain matter, blood, and bone splinters. One word branded behind his eyes: _mine._

This is how the alpha finds himself slumped over and shaking the drowsiness of the tranquilizers they’d shot through the door away.

He is bound by his left wrist, and both legs to yet another column, left to wonder if the little demon had purposely scented that poor male to get under his skin. If so he’d succeeded spectacularly. 

Without the object of his attention in sight his cock’s lost interest; which means his rut must be at its end. He can almost focus on revenge again; the calculation, the measures, the strike. As of now he is immobile with the steel of his confines devouring his flesh, aiming for tissue and muscle, but he won’t always be. Of this he is sure, the small vampire isn’t too partial to his pain, for whatever foolish reason.

He is staring emptily when the sound of the bolts severs his numbness, preparing him for whoever dares to come through. Anticipating yet another round with security his vampire flares with a vengeance as his fangs spring from his gums.

He catches sight of who comes through the door: blood red velvet cloaks and dark delicate veils.

In a frenzy, the need lashes out at him. Even starved, his body and his strength deteriorating, his cock still somehow thickens. Which, _honestly._

Repulsed by his body’s reaction, Harry’s mind stands silent as he glowers at the pest.

“Hi,” his voice, though squeaky, is extraordinarily quiet, kindling a thousand low flames that dance on his skin. Jaw working, Harry remains silent, watching him, all the while noting that he does not leave the security keys at the door–either he does not intend to come into contact, or he has made his fatal mistake. The keys are tucked underneath the cloak; attached to his hip, and the code embedded in his memory: _1968._ Even now the significance in that number is indefinite, but there must be some, considering how sentimental the creature is.

Instead, his captor surveys the cell, as if something has changed since his last visit; he catches his blooded claim, his _mine._ A little, thrilled giggle emerges from the veils as the boy (man? _Demon)_ stumbles clumsily over, running his gloved index across the desiccated vitals. Impulsive as he has become it’s no shock that he wants to snarl at him not to touch; except to hell with that, he’s already dirty, what’s one more stain? “For me?”  that obnoxious snicker sounds wrong _,_ pitchy with what sounds like stress. Off. Something is off-kilter–the creature appears to be methodic, not absentminded in the least, in constant, sadistic confidence. Now he’s forgotten the keycards and is unsteady on his feet. He seems…nervous.

While it provides Harry an advantage this time, the irrational desire to know what’s changed invades his mind almost entirely.

At a standstill, the omega shrugs, then continues his quiet assessment, ignoring where he’s restrained like an animal. Which, shouldn’t matter, but bothers him like a bee sting. 

“Did you at least enjoy my gifts?” He catches sight of his answer in the next second. His _gifts_ remain untouched on the bed: scented lotions, lubrication of all odd sorts, wipes, morphine, a bloody _shag-doll._ One hand fists at his hip as he finally looks at him. “Why not? Do you hate yourself so very much, Harry?”

“I wouldn’t accept anything from you,” he sneers, voice hoarse from the abuse he’d put it through.

“But my vir–,” his whimsical voice cuts short into a sharp breath that makes Harry’s eyes narrow. “H…How’s the voice?” _his_ voice breaks, and the sound is too provocative. In response, he shrugs the one shoulder he can.

“You sure make a lot of noise, Haz,” he breathlessly giggles before flouncing about like a butterfly. Or something more annoying: _a fly._

A lazy, taunting smirk finds his mouth. “I was quite livid.”

At the sound of his voice the omega’s revitalized elegance falters as he stumbles, gasping all the while. His cock strains so hard it must be outlined perfectly, listening to him, gasping. “Baby, you flatter me.” It’s so feeble that the thing in his chest begins to pound in time with his cock and his hands curl into fists.

“I’m still livid. But more exhausted by this _.”_ By _captivity._

“Then sleep. ‘M off anyway, I just wanted to say, er, hi. Duty calls.”

“I don’t sleep _._ As I said, it’s a waste of time, _”_ he mutters, realizing that if he leaves, any chance at escape goes with him. Which can’t happen–in this state he considers lunging for him, wringing his neck, or sinking his fangs there and his inner thighs and– _enough._

“That’s…You shouldn’t do that to yourself.”

Stupidly, he’s curious as to what the demon is going on about. “Do what.”

“You need to sleep, Harry. The _new-night_ heals,” the omega tells him so softly it’s stomach-turning.

At that comment Harry laughs hollowly, shaking his head. “Aye, you keep thinking that, princess.”

Seemingly concerned, the creature saunters over, then sits directly before him. It’s a brave move, and he thinks that bravery is his finest virtue. He settles so close that the alpha could reach out and touch, so close that scent, roses in their first and last bloom, is an imperceptible stab to the throat. “I could heal you,” he breathes in that alluring voice Harry can’t help but want to lose himself to. “I could if you’d just–,”

“I don’t need to be healed, princess.”

The tension between them is strung so tightly it’s bound to snap any second. Calculating, Harry steadies his cold stare as the omega before him makes a muted noise, so much like _“please,”_ that his alpha claws to the surface. “No.”

A tiny whimper stuns him enough that he misses the creature’s movement; in a lurch a warm weight lands in his lap, a full arse nestling his bulging cock as a dainty hand combs through his damp hair. A sheen sweat breaks on his skin as the fire blazes furiously in his veins.  Despite it all, his cuffed hand strains for the freedom to touch, and the freed one moves to part the cloaks. To expose the tight body in a black, sleek piece. A cold blade cozies against his jugular. “Yes,” a breathy sound as the omega squirms so his joggers shift along the thick line of his cock. Unused to such sensation a fierce hiss leaves his mouth, and his hips lurch forward unconsciously.

His potent scent smothers Harry’s space as a magnetic thrill quickens his blood flow. “Mine?” Veils close in, the wispy material caressing his mouth as his eyes never leave the creature in his lap. “You want me,” he purrs, thin fingers twining in his untidy hair. “You’re hard for me, alpha.” It’s considered improper by all means to call one by their presentation. It’s utterly intimate and intense, nailing him in the center of his chest.

_Mine,_ his alpha thunders in agreement.

“I’m not interested in pleasure, or this,” he spits, curling his free hand around the blade so it slices into his fingers. Blood warms his hand, and drips between them just like the desire. “Pain. That’s what I live for _._ I’d make you beg for mercy.”

“That _thing_ in your trousers says somethin’ else.” He closes the inch separating them so his soft mouth ends up on Harry’s, parted like he’s waiting for him to deepen the kiss. “You want me so bad, everyone does. They can’t help it.” He doesn’t doubt it. Not when his reedy voice strokes his cock better than his own hand ever could, not when his arse rocks down on him.

An unbidden growl builds in his chest as his hand strokes coaxingly enough that the small omega shivers, melting into him. His hand is creeping towards the keycards, but his damn mouth keeps running darkly, “You want them, too, do you not, princess? Move on from me, find another toy to play with. Your intended. Let him beat you bloody.”

“You don’t wanna hurt me, Haz. I know you don’t. You’re not him, and I’m not his. I’m yours.” It’s so believable, a helpless mewl as he buries his face in the slope of Harry’s shoulder. His breaths are hot, damp pants that Harry feels everywhere, taking his thoughts somewhere else. Somewhere better than anywhere else. “All I think about anymore is bein’ caught on your knot, and havin’ all your fledglins’ in my tummy. ‘S that weird? There is somethin’ so kind in your heart, I want to see it.”

He feels his words, rather than hears them. He feels them insanely.

His fingers grip his hipbone so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t cause any harm. The keycards are just out of reach, and then the omega sighs into the curve of his ear, “Show me. Take me.” Just like that his brain becomes a mess of mine and need.

The small creature’s natural fragrance flowers with such an intense rupture of energy that the alpha is lost to the high of his heat. The dull sound of the blade clattering to the floor does nothing against this losing game. “Please, you promised.”

_Like he’s forgotten._ “I owe you nothing,” he says pointlessly, preoccupied with the feel of the leather and the sexual frame of curves underneath. He’s fallen under his spell, lurching forward to bury his face in those veils, breathing him in.

All at once desperation erupts in the prison that seems too small suddenly. An invisible force condemns him, his cock heavy and hard, more than ready to knot him. “T-Told you, ‘m s-so close. Wanna feel that feelin’ again, please, alpha.”

“Sunshine, it’s your heat,” he tells him huskily, the back of his hand running along his thick thigh then kneading his flesh.

“N-Not an omega,” the omega mumbles even as he ruts against him, moaning into his skin like this is the best he’s ever felt. Forceful, raw, _addictive._ As his hand strokes mindlessly, the little vampire works for what his body craves. He lets this happen, lifting his hips instinctively and encouraging him until with a frantic _“yes,”_ he convulses in his lap, and begins to tremble. He pets his thighs, and talks carelessly, “Look at you, sunshine. So sweet.” Swiftly the energy eases up, and just when he’s about to strike for what he has to, it returns with a power more painful than a thousand daggers to the sides.

The little ball of heat and sunshine is breathing raggedly, mumbling madly, “ _hurts.”_ Responding to his pain his alpha snarls, and he’s so tired of the reactions this strange creature stirs in him. Growling, his hand splays over his belly, and it’s wrong _._ Something so soft, and lovely in just essence is not for him _,_ but he smells like a bed of dying roses, the most irresistible of scents. “Sunshine _,”_ he hears himself say throatily, enraptured.

“It hurts,” he’s almost crying, the sound so raw that he decides whatever this omega wants he’s going to give him, no questions asked. “It hurts. I didn’t know it’d hurt like this, ‘Az. M-Make it stop.”

“I will,” he promises without meaning to, “I will. I promise I will.” As his hand rises he takes the zipper to drag it down as the omega shivers. He traces the prominent lines of his collarbones with the tips of his fingers, the skin silky as flower petals, hot as the sun as his little chest heaves with gasps. “ _Hurts.”_

“I know, I know,” he sounds like he’s cooing, damn it. “But I want to feel you. I want to _see you._ Your mouth. Show me your mouth, _dhraga._ And then I’ll feel how wet you are for me.” In trembles the vampire mewls, then jerkily lifts his hands to the veils, dragging the thing up so his mouth is visible.

Glistening lips, the bottom plush, both red and bitten raw.

He crowds him, closing his mouth over the enticing bows, groaning deep in his throat at how the omega parts his lips eagerly. He wonders idly if this is what love feels like. Him. If he is what love feels like. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” He doesn’t give him the chance to respond, bruising his lips with the force of his kiss before tasting the contours of his soft, delicious mouth hungrily. He tastes sweet and so unforgettable _._ “More. Show me more, princess.”

His little tongue kitten licks his jaw before he nods frantically, “Yes.”

Jerking his hips so his cock presses tight against his perky arse, Harry orders, “Now.”

The omega tries to stand, but he holds him hard over the keycards, ripping them free of their place on his hip. He doesn’t pay any attention to them, too focused on the sunshine he has in his arms. “Mine. You stay.”

“’M gonna show you,” the vampire mumbles impatiently.

He holds onto his hips, and pins him with all the alpha in his crimson stare. “I am not fallin’ for that again. You’re not leaving this time.”

“I won’t. I wanna show you. Damn it, Haz, I need this! _”_ Nails draw across the bare of his chest, leaving red streaks of slight pain as he cries, _“I’ll stay, I-I-I,”_ He is unwise to believe this, knows he will regret it, but he just can’t say no. He bunches the cloaks in his fist and threatens in a low voice, “You leave, I’ll find you, princess. And then it will be on my terms.”

With no other choice Harry gives into the compulsion and releases him so he scrambles to his feet, swaying as he snivels, _“Hate this,”_ but lifts his flighty hands to yank the loop tying the cloaks together. _“I’m still in control.”_ As if Harry could ever forget.

In an erotic rush the velvet red flutters to the ground and pools at his feet, revealing the black outfit that clings to his body, exposing the frail of his masked shoulders, hugging his slim middle and the slight round of his hips. His stare falls to the combat boots, stopping just below his knees. A cruel onslaught of lust tramples over his brain until all he knows is how small the nervous creature before him is. How small and soft and–

Just as soon the veils follow.

Staring back at him is the most divine creature he has ever seen in all his life. There is something familiar about the stranger before him, and something brand new all the same. He doesn’t belong to the night, far beyond just vampiric. Otherworldly. That’s it, what he is.

A creature that’s been warmed by sunlight, but with tiny fangs and an eerie beauty that speaks of his vampiric lineage. He’s radiant, and blue _._ He can’t catch his breath, drowning in those bottomless sapphire irises, glowing around his obsidian pupils, and framed by long thick lashes.

A horrorstruck expression transforms his flawless features as he holds up one dainty hand; it’s glowing the same color as his stare, and the skin it’s surrounded by. Suspended in time Harry’s still sinking, only able to watch the internal battle rage within the depths of his _blue blue blue_ eyes. He has never seen anything worthier of a thousand deaths by sunlight. 

In a sudden spiral, the omega breaks the spell. To recover, the alpha blinks slowly as the creature whispers, “I have to…I should have st-stayed away. I…I’m not like you, Haz, I…” Goddess above, he isn’t. He is nothing like Harry. He’s just like sunshine, lovely and utterly forbidden.

Sense shreds through the haze in his mind at the prospect of his small sunshine going away. He extends his hand and, “Sunshine…Look at me.”

He doesn’t, but by now Harry doesn’t expect him to. All the blue blanketing his body illuminates the room. It’s– _he’s_ casting an anguish that suffocates him, clogging up his airways. His figure wavers when Harry speaks in a gritty voice, “You can do as you wish, princess, just tell me your name.”

“I-I” he hiccups, breaths rapid and extremely close to hyperventilation.

“Your name,” Harry demands, forcing his eyelids shut (like this he can pretend he’s the demon he should’ve been, he can pretend this is nothing to him).

“Louis, my name is Louis,” the omega finally breathes, and when Harry opens his eyes again all that’s left of him is that fluorescent blue Harry’s sure he’s seen before. It doesn’t stay long either, though, dissolving second-by-second.

A while after his heart’s steadied, the alpha retrieves the keycards lying beside his thigh. He doesn’t feel a sense of relief as the tiny silver key on the chain fits into the shackles. There’s no reason for it. He will return to a lifecycle that consists of death, isolation, and social structure. He will repair the damage done while he’d been locked away, and reclaim his place as future Executioner.

With nothing else to do Harry holds his breath and lets the numb bury him.

Without the steel restrictions, he _traces_ and finds himself outside with the nighttime sky dark and pale of its prior beauty above him. Somehow, even with as openly he’s welcomed back to his place in the world, it doesn’t feel right. In fact, he’s never felt less free.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another ! :)

Once Louis has at last shaken the remnants of his heat away, as well as the morphine he’d been treated with, he sneaks out of the den on bare feet with a blanket around his shoulders. He’s only in one of his silk nightshirts, and the moon shines too brightly in his sensitive eyes, but the grass feels so right between his toes.

Honest, he means to go by unnoticed, but finds that’s not likely to happen as the lycan’s seem to have taken on the vampire’s schedule. A bonfire flares in a pit with wild sparks of bright orange and angry red, and some of the pack seems to have gathered for an odd cuddle of sorts. Liam, he identities first as he is the largest with his sleek fur an inky black and there is an all too cozy Zayn curled atop his middle, the rest huddled close.

As soon as Zayn’s gaze lands on him so does a cluster of silver ones. “He lives!” his right-hand smiles as Liam huffs, which Louis takes as his _hello._ The others do the same, some prancing up to him and nuzzling his hand or his thigh until he pets the soft fur behind their ears. They are the gentlest of giants, these lot.

With a wave, Louis approaches, lingering awkwardly on the fringes of their get-together.

“My, my, Lou, such scandalous attire, the _vymia_ would _never_ approve,” Zayn comments playfully.

Louis smiles wolfishly, and wiggles his bum as one of the lycan’s (Nathan who has always been a frisky pup) steals the blanket from him with his teeth. “Aren’t I pretty, Z?”

Liam rumbles an uptight sound that Louis waves his hand at, “Oh I _hardly_ need your approval! Look at that coat! All matted! Hasn’t Z taught you lot to bathe yet?”

It’s all silence from the pack before Liam makes an odd noise, much like laughter, and carefully eases onto all fours. “You handled your heat wonderfully, _arshla._ It’s time for a celebratory run, how ‘bout it?” A flush spreads down his neck, though he hardly acknowledges this, eyeing the other vampire in question.

He smiles, all warmth and Zayn-like. “It’s tradition, c’mon. You have to.”

“What about the pups?” He points his thumb in direction of the pup’s den, where they are all soundly asleep.

“Liam’s father has got them. C’mon, it’s a full moon.” With that the vampire holds out a hand, his other caressing the fine fur on Liam’s neck. Louis takes it, trusting him effortlessly. With a mysterious exhilaration, the wolves fall into a restless line, as if in wait.

And then Liam throws his massive head back and howls so wildly Louis yelps in surprise. In an abrupt blur, the lycan’s take off into the forest, their bodies weaving around tress so graciously Louis’ impressed. With no resistance, he follows Zayn’s lead, and it’s like this that he remembers what it feels like to belong. He fits in seamlessly with Zayn’s family, racing through the forests with the lycan’s. He feels more at home than he ever would with those he’d been raised with.

This is what makes love worth it.

Caught up in it all the omega lets go of reality, tossing his head back and howling until the others mingle with his own.

✹✹✹

It’s an oh-so outdated vampiric custom among the _vymia’s_ socialites, this ballroom event that happens once every half century to rejoice the forthcoming transition in monocracy. Viktor’s rise is upon them. It’s also Louis’ debut into society as a _looking_ omega. Which he is just ecstatic to find this one more reason to be courted by alpha’s who’ve yet to live through their first rut. Like he doesn’t have enough to tolerate, the _ahmari,_ the ruins of the manor, _his damn outfit._

Louis stares at his reflection with a sulky expression, or what he likes to think is more withering than anything else (he’s sure it’d put Medusa’s to shame). It’s extremely offensive and factionist, is the thing. He does not feel like himself in it, and wonders which dressmaker he’ll have to scar for choosing it.

It’s an ugly olive color with a frill trim for the shoulders, ending at his ankles. To top all this off, it was once designed for a female, not at all suited for his very male chest. His shoes are flat, and if there is one thing Louis hate’s more than anything it’s feeling _small._

So much so that he almost welcomes Aiden’s arrival. At the sight of him the omega stiffens and sets his jaw before snarling, “I refuse to wear this. It’s old, and hideous. What era is this even from, Grimshaw?”

“Aiden,” the ancient bastard says. “And it’s _elegant._ It was made for your _marema_ when she made her debut in 1498.” He almost wants to let out the version of himself nobody wants to see. The version that carries so much anger; _blue-blooded_ anger. And this has always been the root of his problems: he never tries to fix things. Instead he convinces himself that things hurt for a reason. He just covers shit up with laughter and a bad attitude. “Your _marema_ was as beautiful as the moon in her youth. I always have appreciated truebloods _._ If that’s what _you_ are at all.”

Louis blanches, but that is all there is to show that Aiden’s hit a nerve. He remains aloof as ever. “Alas there isn’t one vampire that outshines my beauty.”

“Indeed, ‘tis why you should show so on the day of our announcement.”

He balls his hands into fists to refrain from lashing out, and sneers, “There will be no announcement.”

“Aye, there will be as I just said. However, _you_ will do no speaking today. You’re to keep your mouth shut.”

Louis snorts, then hisses when the nasty alpha raises his hand. “Do it,” he dares with an airy giggle, calling his bluff. “I’m sure it’ll be quite the spectacle. Oh, I can hear the gossip now! Should I even bother to cover this bad boy then?” He displays the bruise that stretches from his temple to just above his cheekbone.

With a bloody stare Aiden bares his fangs then snatches him by the hair. Louis doesn’t bother to put up a struggle at this point, just laughs to disguise his humiliation as disgust. “You will be on your best behavior today or a bruise will seem pale in comparison to what I will do to you. Now,” his hand smooths back his hair, “be ready within the hour. Have a maid do something about that bruise, it’s hideous, and tidy your damn hair. Do not forget to smile.”

Louis smiles blandly just so he doesn’t have to bear another minute with the cruel fucker. Aiden leaves so satisfied and he just can’t stand it. He wishes he wouldn’t have come back.

In a fit of fury, the omega rips out of the wretched dress, and fits into one of his own. It’s a damn pretty piece. Reaching midthigh, the skintight dress is black with lace sleeves that reach his wrists. He twists a bit to view his bum with a smug, spiteful smile before stepping into ankle-cut boots that are held by four-inch heels.

Stepping into the bathroom he teases his hair and applies some mascara for dramatic effect (concealing the bruise only because he’ll be damned if he ever allows himself to appear weak in front of the most elite). It’s all Louis-esque, and he loves it.

Pleased, the omega exits his bedroom soundlessly, making it by the guards (Aiden will probably see the pigs set to the sun for such negligence) unseen. It’s only when he descends the grand spiral stairway into the great room that his rush of rebellious glory backfires.

The manor has already been invaded, crowded with scads of pale faces that all somehow look the same.

A bomb ticks in his chest as the first set of pale peeper’s prod at him. Really, he’d wanted to avoid attention. It’s bad enough he naturally stands out, but his outfit surely takes the cake this time around.

With nothing else to do Louis improvises. He’s a rather accomplished actor, and besides he’s always enjoyed the spotlight. He gives out a proud, heartless front. The only given is the scarlet that’s warmed his skin.

Seems luck is on his side–nobody has the guts to be the first to approach him, that is until–, “Someone’s feeling frisky today.” Louis turns just as Zayn settles beside him against the wall with a flute of spiked champagne. It’s pink, and sparkly, and if Louis didn’t know better he could’ve mistaken it for the pink bubbly stuff. Not the bubbly blood stuff.

“What are you doing here?” Louis demands, accepting the glass to sip hastily. “I’m hurt! You’re free! How could you be here, wasting precious coitus time!”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not staying. This is just…shit _,_ ” his best mate mutters, gesturing around. Unlike the rest Zayn is dressed in all black, trousers and a button up. It suits him well.

Louis giggles into the back of his hand, but takes no pity. “You should’ve stayed away. Far, far away.”

“I couldn’t just let you go through this alone,” the other omega mumbles quietly.

Touched, Louis’ gaze softens, but he just won’t have his best mate suffering too. “I would never have asked you to come, Z. You shouldn’t have to endure this with me. You’re hardly lookin’ for any…wooing, anyhow. I shall survive.”

“I don’t know if the brutes will be able to resist with you dressed like _that._ You do look rather ravishing.”

Louis smirks, and if he had long hair he’d surely flip it. Of course, then he remembers Harry’s mane, and wishes with an old ache that he were with him. “However,” Zayn sighs, “It’s unwise to test Grimshaw like this. Who knows what the pig will do when he catches sight of you.”

Louis entertains the idea of the old alpha’s heart failing at the sight. And not just figurative heart failure. A giggle bubbles up from his belly, though it’s short-lived under Zayn’s concerned look.

“It’s all going to work out, Z, don’t worry. I’ll be out in two days at exactly sunrise, remember? I have a plan.” He _hopes_ it’ll all work out, really, but can’t take the idea lightly. It might not. It’s a very real possibility, but Louis’ always been a _the-glass-is-half-full_ fellow.

“Whenever it is _you_ telling me not to worry it’s mandatory that I worry, Louis. Your plans aren’t always…the most thought out,” he says bluntly. Which what utter _bullshit._ “And I don’t think rushing to the warlock is going to do you any good. If you can find him anyway.”  

Louis swallows around the lump in his throat. “These are our people, Zayn. I can’t leave them to Grimshaw, and I can’t leave them to the _ahmari._ It’s all wrong, and if nobody will _listen_ I have to _make them._ I can’t just watch this play out…”

Zayn’s irises appear almost amber in the candlelight. “You’re too selfless. When is it going to be time to plan for _Louis?_ Who is going to save _you?”_

“I don’t need saving.” And he doesn’t _._ Louis has saved himself time and time again. This time will be no different. Over the whole worried tirade, he just smiles, and uses his most convincing voice to shoo Zayn away, back home to Liam.

Alone again he sighs, sagging against the wall. He attracts too much unwanted attention by just breathing _._ It intensifies the feeling he knows all-too-well. He feels like an outsider in every way. Without Zayn to share the sentiment something heavy sits on his chest, crushing him. 

A wistful tune eases above the hum of constant conversation. It’s a waltz, and there are too many eager partners waiting for the opportunity to stake some daft claim.

Louis’ aim is to avoid them all, especially Grimshaw _._

He weaves through the crowd with his head held high, a polite smile plastered to his face. He evades until, a mere ten feet ahead, is the opening onto the balcony. _Thank the Goddess above!_

His pace quickens just as someone steps in from his bloody balcony _._ And it’s not just someone _._

At the sight Louis’ heart stalls in his chest, paralyzing his limbs. As the blood drains from his face, his heart just barely beat backs to life, pounding cruelly against his ribcage. At the worst time, his fledgling wish comes true; Harry Styles _notices him._ A pale stare the color green locks with his own blue ones, and as Louis’ saucer eyes stare back, the green swirls into pools of blood.

Reluctant to face the alpha’s fury Louis whirls around, and of course, just in time Grimshaw’s figure appears, approaching him with determination.

It’s the untimely crossroads he’s been waiting for. In an instance Louis’ course is set, his heart takes the lead.

With his sweetest smile the omega storms towards Harry, not once wondering how he’s escaped. He’s _clever,_ and if there be anyone capable of outsmarting Louis it’s Harry Styles. This just means war _,_ his vampire purrs happily.

And its Harry Styles wearing the most remarkable scowl. In the short saunter Louis drinks in all his glory. He briefly questions how clever his warrior is, as he is _here_ of all the places he could be. It’s obvious he’s been out a while, though. He looks less like a savage slave, and more like an elite Executioner. He’s dressed for the occasion, posh and proper in all black. His brown mop of hair has been washed and cut into a style that only makes him all the more attractive. His skin, still it’s natural colorless pigment, is no longer pulled tight over his features, just as his eyes are no longer sunken in or lined with inky veins. There are no traces of the past five months, no traces of _Louis,_ and it infuriates him.

Jealousy coils in his belly, though it’s reduced by the anxiety of going _blue_ in front of the entire species.

He must’ve fed, and it certainly wasn’t Louis’ offering.

“Seems someone’s let the dog out,” Louis comments snidely once directly in front of him, holding his hand out with his prettiest smug smile. Being a private male Harry would never cause a scene by refusing him.

With the muscle of his jaw ticking attractively the alpha takes his hand, squeezing almost painfully before dragging him in. Louis giggles in delight, placing his hand on his shoulder as Harry’s hand splays along the small of his back, sending shivers up his spine.

Like this, following Harry’s confident lead, Louis feels weightless. Even before the music begins, he feels like he’s gliding, moving effortlessly across the polished wooden floor. The heat from Harry’s skin seeps through Louis’ clothing like nourishment, a heady brew that makes him want to rise to his tiptoes then take off in flight.

He knows now that _this_ is why omegas ruin themselves. He’d always heard of omega’s who’d _“made mistakes.”_  They’d whisper that they were wanton, that they’d been led astray. Louis never quite understood it before these past months with Harry.

Well _this_ is why.

“You’d think my first bite would’ve scared you off,” Louis says a bit breathlessly, to distance himself from all the desire. “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Rigid as Harry is it’s quite impressive that their dance is so smooth and easy. Really, he never took the alpha for such an accomplished dancer. _Surprise, surprise._

“Are you always so bratty? Or is this special treatment, your highness,” Harry bites back.

Louis eases backwards enough that they are almost nose-to-nose (courtesy of Louis’ heels), breathing the same, thick air. He’s more than a bit stunned by the proximity, and sounds dazed even to his own ears, “I can’t have you thinking I’m a good person, now can I?”

Looking down on him, Harry smiles, all pearly white fangs, and Louis remembers with a start that he has _dimples._ And it’s unreasonably _cute._ “Don’t worry, princess, I’d never _._ ”

He sticks his tongue out at him, then steps on his foot with all he’s got. Harry doesn’t even falter. _Ugh._

Louis has no choice but to lean into him, hiding his pout. “Be a gentleman and _pretend_ to be in pain for my sake,” he mutters seconds too late.

“Oh, I am,” the alpha says cautiously. Against all the hard lines of him Louis is so very warm, and feels _safe_ for the first time in ages. It’s _not_ how he’d imagine feeling, but it’s so brilliant nonetheless. “Listening to you yap is by far the most painful of punishments.”

“Then I’ll keep it up,” Louis retorts pleasantly only to lose his voice. How embarrassing.

Even so Louis doesn’t care, he forgets the circumstances and falls into the illusion that Harry’s holding him because he _wants_ to. He smiles softly, resting his forehead on the alpha’s shoulder with his eyes closed tight. It feels _ordinary,_ and for the first-time ordinary has never felt more perfect.

It all comes to an obnoxious end when Harry murmurs matter-of-fact, “Grimshaw’s staring.”

Louis stiffens, and wishes on all the stars in the sky to be anywhere with Harry but here. Apparently, all the stars aren’t enough as he doesn’t disappear. He huffs like it doesn’t faze him at all, “As always.”

“It all makes sense now.”

Louis frowns. “What.”

“Your ghost status. A royal omega’s reputation would be in tatters if the _vymia_ discovered their alliance with the Creed.”

“Pffft,” the omega snorts with a touch of amusement, “My reputation hardly matters at this point. I’m already on the brink of ruination.”

“Then why hide it, princess?”

Louis doesn’t have to answer, that much is clear, there is no demand or timbre in Harry’s voice. “I wanted to be someone else,” he hears himself admit quietly, because he _wants_ to, and has the choice. “When I was just a fledgling I dreamt of being a warrior like my said father. One who serviced in the war and did for my people. When I was shut down because I’m an omega, because I’m a royal, because of who I am and who I am not, I found another way I could do just those things without being locked away in a high tower for the rest of my unmated life until some know-nothing prince waltzed up the stairway into my bed for the remainder of my miserable existence. There is no forgiving yourself for all the things you didn’t become.” He bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep from rambling any more than he already has.

He clutches his eager heart close, reminding his omega that it’s not meant to be tucked into Harry’s pocket.

Rescuing him from his own foolish fledgling thoughts the music fades away. Louis gets the hell away from there– _him,_ bursting out onto the balcony with one heaving breath. He plants his hands on the cold stone of the banister and looks out onto the remote, gloomy countryside. He stares until his vision blurs, and his heart slows. He feels like a sunken ship. Wasting away, and forgotten.

A voice steers him from his cold reverie. “You don’t seem to be one that runs from their problems.”

Louis blinks as the one-and-only Harry Styles steps in beside him. The tall warrior mirrors his posture; his pale hands are much larger on the stone, and his face is hard and still so soft even as his stare is fixed on the distance. He gulps down the emotion ballooning in his throat only to have it press painfully against his heart.

“’M not,” he mumbles. “Just needed some fresh air. It stinks in there. And anyway, you don’t seem to be one to chase those who don’t desire your attention.”

“Under certain circumstances, princess, I am one to do exactly that.”

A lovely heat pools in his belly. It’s just not right how he does this, how he looks at him, how he _breathes_ in his direction. Louis is just as omega as any other, and he is helpless to Harry’s charm, even if the alpha lacks a lot of it. 

Blowing out an exasperated breath (it’s more meant for himself than Harry), Louis kicks out of his stupid boots then hitches his body up, so he’s seated on the banister. His sock-clad feet dangle above the great dive towards earth. “That’s entirely inappropriate,” the alpha comments, eyeing his feet pointedly.

Louis giggles, then squirms so his dress rides up his creamy thighs. He wants to whimper when Harry’s stare darkens, and gleams, drawing up his revealed flesh. He wants to whimper, then melt and spread his legs; maybe even bend over the– _oh no, no way._

He inhales sharply, then feels his face flood with heat. Diverting his gaze, Louis mumbles defiantly, “They’ll judge me with or without shoes, Harry. Their talk bores me.”

“It’s your reputation,” the alpha mutters in a voice that’s a thousand octaves deeper than should be possible.

“Live a little, Haz.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Louis’ lips tilt up into a tiny impish grin before he pats the space beside him in challenge, suggesting silkily, “Join me.”

“I’m fine where I’m at.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun. Loosen up. Before I pull the _omega of worth_ card. Besides, I know where this is goin’. You’re here to demand answers, and I’m going to give ‘em to you _if_ you get comfy with me. It’s a rather long, dreary story.”

Harry’s minty stare catches his, and he just can’t look away. He’s just too damn beautiful, too strong and smart and _worthy_ and just everything Louis’ always expected his mate to be. (He feels love, again.) For a mad moment Louis thinks Harry’s thinking the same about him. His stare is fiery with emotion, and not the bad kind. At least Louis doesn’t see it, anyway. Not when his omega is reacting wildly, spiraling into a love Louis could never reckon with. It’s pure, and tells him that this alpha who has always meant everything and nothing to him, is _his_ alpha. He just doesn’t know if it’s by mistake or design yet.

Past all this Louis can’t help but wonder if Harry likes his omegas insane. If so it’s a match more tragic than that of the moon and the sun.

The spell shatters when the alpha curses, then settles (rather clumsily) beside him, his long legs stretching further than Louis’. He might as well be a space heater as the chill of their island is casted away by his mere proximity. “It’s not exactly a walk on the wild side,” Louis teases him, knocking their shoulders like he would with Zayn, “but it’s definitely a start.”

“I’m honored to have earned your approval, princess.”

Louis opens his mouth to retort when, in the near distance, howls erupt from the forests. Thoughtlessly, to his lycan brethren, the omega tosses his head back and howls as loud an imitation as he can. Overflowing with cathartic giggles he hears them proudly give back to him with more strength, letting him know they are with him in spirit.

“Enough,” the alpha orders tightly. “You’re only encouraging those pack of savages.” He is coiled to strike like a confronted snake. On edge, and fixated on the potential threat.

Louis tilts his head in his direction, regarding him sadly. “If _they_ are the savage ones, how is there so much you don’t know, Harry?” Obviously not expecting this Harry pries his stare from the forests’ border to peer at him through narrowed, venomous eyes. Refusing to back down Louis stares back bluntly. “Those savages are as much my people as them,” he tilts his head towards the inside of the great room. “This whole species seems to think the only people who are people are those who look and think like them. But they just don’t know them. If they walked with the pack for just three minutes they’d learn things they’d never learn in a century. Your problem, H, is that you merely exist _._ You need to stop walking the path they paved for you. For once stop wondering what every decision or word or action is worth. ‘Cause in the end we’re all connected to each other, fur or fangs, fighting for the same cause. Her. Just because they are different from us doesn’t mean they can’t be trusted.”

Louis almost gets whiplash by how rapidly the emotions burst then die in Harry’s gaze as he stares with an intensity that makes him squirm. His hands wring in his lap until he can’t help but demand, “What are you staring at?”

“It’s like those veils are still there. I can’t see into you...I can’t decide–,”

Louis smiles then bitterly interrupts, “what I am? We’ve been through this, yeah? I don’t know either.” 

“No,” the alpha clarifies, “not what. _Who._ I can’t decide _who_ you are.”

Surprised, Louis lifts his head, and peers up at the alpha curiously. He’s staring back shamelessly. Under that stare his cold, untouchable demeanor thaws out a bit, and he doesn’t think there will ever be a time Harry Styles’ stare won’t affect him. Terror, cruel and cold, fists his heart.

His first response is to lash out against the cause of such an evil emotion. He fixes his stare straight ahead. “You came here for closure, yeah? Ask me whatever it is you need to move on from this.”

“I want to know why you held me in a prison for five months,” the alpha gets right to the point, and Louis pretends to appreciate it.

“I…” he swallows thickly, collecting his composure and chaining his heart. “I was merely repaying a debt. ‘M sure you don’t remember this, but a long time ago, 1968 to be exact was the first time we met. I’d gone through _post_ three days before, and Aiden, uh, Grimshaw wouldn’t…He wouldn’t accept me back into the Coven unless I agreed to take his vein. I refused, I always do.” He smiles just a bit. “He raised me, y’know. Aside from Zayn, Aiden is who I remember the most in my fledgling years. I had a well-off life. I was spoilt, pampered, and I had the best of guardians. He wasn’t always so corrupt, or he was damn proper at hidin’ it. I don’t know, but it was good as it gets for a royal. He allowed me luxuries most wouldn’t. I was allowed to spend my _new-nights_ with Zayn. I was rarely told no _._ He was kind, and he taught me how to love and how to fight. I saw my _marema_ on rare occasions. She had no time to waste on me as I couldn’t even hold a conversation, y’know how it goes.

“Anyway, I didn’t know where else to go at that point, so I went to Zayn. He’d shifted into _post_ three weeks before which meant he was old enough to be taken into the Lycan’s link. I’m older than Z by a few years, but I was a real later bloomer. Funny how that worked out. Fate, I reckon. It only took a week for those two to be gross and in love and Liam’s fathers pack openly accepted Z as one of their own. It worked out. For me too, as Z fed me.” He does appreciate Harry’s silence. He’s a proper listener, really. “We were headed to Liam and got sidetracked the day we met though. We were dumb and young, got caught up in the freedom of it all and forgot what exposure to the human world meant for two vampires. If you ‘aven’t caught on by now, you saved us. Well, you got your arse beat, but you saved us still. You brought something out of me…and I didn’t understand it.” He sighs wistfully at the memory. “I still don’t, but it saved us. I never forgot that. Aiden taught me to love, and to fight, but that day you taught me honor and you taught me to never be afraid. I never forgot that.” _You,_ he adds lovesick.

“I’d see you around, and your name is a massive thing ‘round here so of course I knew. And uh, I tapped into the Creed’s files a while ago. I saw your name, and I may have pried into your assignments. I’m glad I did. It looked…suspicious, and it was meant to be seen through in six months’ time. Of course, I investigated, I went where you were assigned. And…it was…There were thousands of _ahmari,_ not just a few, Harry. _Thousands._ A whole hoard. A compound, like ours. I was taken and,” he swallows nervously. “They chained me in a prison with a fledgling. She was so lovely, so precious. And she died when they…they set her to the sun. I was left for the same, but I managed to,” he lies to protect himself from judgement, and despises it, “free myself from the chains just before the roof lifted. I couldn’t let you go there. I knew you couldn’t…” He shakes his head, and exhales heavily. “And so now you know. That’s everything.”

With nothing to do but wait Louis does just that. Beside him Harry is a still and silent statue. Which Louis gets. It’s Harry’s _way,_ and for whatever reason Louis thinks he knows _Harry’s way._ He’s the sort to process all aspects, to get into all the dirty and difficult details. Louis allows it, pacing his breaths until they are relatively normal again.

There’s a gust of wind that brings goosebumps to life on his bare legs, so Louis rubs them, discreetly pressing his right thigh to Harry’s left. He’s warm, is all. It’s simply survival.

“Why not simply tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

When the alpha doesn’t answer Louis nods. “Exactly. Your alpha pride would have gotten in the way and you would’ve gone straight there and met the same fate as that fledgling. I…My greatest regret is that I couldn’t save her, Haz. I couldn’t bear to have two souls on my conscious.” 

In the same instant he snuffs out the fight flaring in Harry’s eyes. “Listen, I’m going to even the scores for that fledgling and expose Aiden’s betrayal to the Clans. You can focus on protecting home base while I work on that. We can move on as strangers.” 

Emphasizing his point Louis makes it to his feet, stepping into his shoes. In quick strides, he makes it to the opening of the balcony only to pause. Harry spares him no backwards glance, and Louis smiles, admiring his silhouette against the moonlight. “I’m not askin’ forgiveness, but if ever you’re lookin’ for something more than this, I could show you the ropes.”

Even the most optimistic still couldn’t count on Harry Styles ever sailing away from the mothership.

 

&&

Boredom is an understatement Louis thinks, blatantly ignoring Lord Whatever-His-Face, who’s far too eager to run his mouth. To avoid falling asleep Louis mutters, “I need a drink,” and promptly heads in any other direction. Which is how he spots Harry, on the edge of the ballroom being an utter wallflower.

Well, Louis can’t let this continue. That’d just be bad for his inflated ego. 

On his way the candlelight dims, and the warmth disappears, drifting somewhere else. It doesn’t matter; they sink into the oncoming darkness as their species always has. The musical laughter of their guest’s chime–straight again, all factions, male and female, huddle around billiards tables and the bars.

Louis settles beside Harry, standing straight in the shadows to elbow him. When that pale, impassive gaze does not stray, the omega bites his bottom lip, then assess the room. He senses, rather than sees multiple stares on him–or Harry. He can’t tell which of them draws more attention, or if it’s just _them._ Together. Side-by-side.

He locks stares with an alpha who’s perched at the elegant saloon across the room. Sure, he’s handsome enough, but his face, in the twilight looks like it consists mostly of nostrils and lips, especially when his tongue runs across his visible fangs.

Scrunching his face in disgust Louis elbows Harry again, then points at the bloke with a pretty little grin. “It’s rather impolite to point,” the alpha _points_ out.

He shrugs, then murmurs quietly, as to keep their conversation private, “I snogged him two mornings ago. Quite romantic actually, the sun had just fallen…we met eyes, and it was very…nice.”

This gets his attention. His stare follows Louis’, and in that spiral of green there’s a hue of red that tells of something more. Tension grasps his shoulders, straightening him to his full, towering height.

Amused, Louis grins. _Success._

Shouldering past him, the alpha heads in the other male’s direction, quick and confident. Wide-eyed, Louis follows, taking his arm only to feel the muscles beneath his fingers jump. “Wait, wait!” he giggles breathlessly.

Without looking at him Harry pauses. Louis can smell the scent his skin gives out, and shivers. It smells like a bonding claim, so light and airy he almost misses it with so many others polluting the air. Thrilled, his omega purrs, wanting to watch it play out. Wants to watch Harry put what he considers a challenge (Goddess, that alpha doesn’t come close) to bed and–

His omega isn’t the brightest, but Louis knows better. Letting that happen would be a mistake.

Stepping in front of him, the omega waits until he curses under his breath, then _finally_ looks at him, regarding him with those soul-sucking eyes. “He was droolin’ the entire time,” he teases, daring to lean in and rest his head on Harry’s chest. “I’m taking the piss, comrade; I wouldn’t let just _any dirty dog_ get at me.”

Even as Louis presses close, seeking comfort and _contact,_ the alpha doesn’t budge even a bit. “People are beginning to stare,” is all he says.

Louis exhales, his mind dazed by the scent of the warrior so set against him. “Don’t care, let ‘em.”

“Sunshi–,” he catches himself, stepping away from him gracelessly. As if _scared._ “Louis, stay away from me.”

Louis squares his shoulders stubbornly, holding his ground as he always has. “Why should I? What is it you’re so afraid of?” Frozen, the alpha’s stare is pinpointed just past his shoulder, expression blank as ever. This isn’t the place to do this, with prying eyes and open ears all around them. But Louis just doesn’t care. He never has. He does what feels _right._ And now, what feels right is the need to see past the stone-cold barricade this alphas held up for far too long. He aches to see into all his darkness, to set all that darkness on fire. He wants Harry Styles to let him into his safe room. To give him to opportunity to hurt him, and trust that Louis would never.

Thoughtlessly Louis reaches up, the tips of his fingers just inches from Harry’s jaw when the tall vampire jerks even further out of range. “Look at me,” he demands breathily.

He does so without hesitance, and Louis instantly regrets looking back. His stare is lifeless and flat as his voice when he speaks slowly, “You are wrong. I lost the ability to feel with depth long before you learnt to. I have instinct, and that’s all I will ever have. I dealt my own father’s death, and if you take this further I will do the same to you. Save us both the bother, and stay away from me.”

“Again, it is you that is wrong,” Louis whispers fiercely. “I used to think you feared nothing, but I was wrong. You and I are the same, though. The only difference is I live without fear. You were bitten once, and ever since you’ve been twice as shy.” With little effort Louis softens his voice so that is intimate and just for the alphas ears. “I see you just as well as I hear you, Styles. You want to love again, deep down. It’s just easier for you to live a lie. You’re just like me inside, though. You want to do all those things you shouldn’t. You want to be limitless. You are so attracted to how I live and how freely I feel. That scares you, doesn’t it?” Determined, Louis crowds the tall death-dealer, tilting his head so he has no choice but to look him in the eye. “It scares you to know I could ruin you if you let me stay. If that’s not it, give me one proper reason you won’t have me.”

“You aren’t worth it,” is all Harry Styles says, with an ugly ache in his voice that leaves Louis speechless. He watches him turn on his heels and walk away, the crowd parting for him as if in agreement.

It’s a hellfire hurt. Worse than daggers to the sides, worse than collapsed lungs, or barbed wire lashings.

When it’s turned his bone marrow to molten lava Louis clenches his teeth hard behind a pretty smile. For what’s left of the day Louis laughs the loudest, not out of courtesy or the façade, just to stifle the sound of his heart’s broken beat.

✹✹✹

When at last the day is at its end Grimshaw shoves Louis into his bedroom. He doesn't avoid the older alphas glower, nor does he cower or hide. He's faced enough humiliation for one lifetime, all else be damned. It's not even about wanting to appear strong so Grimshaw will think twice about pawing at him. It’s just that his nature refuses to relent to anyone. His death will only be dealt when he's allowed it. He won't go gently. It's simply how he is hardwired: he is invincible–and it’s not his ego talking either. The sum of his near century experience is, no matter what is and will be done to him, manageable. 

But Goddess above he just hates fighting him. Hates this whole damn thing. 

He supposes he's on his own in this, and it's going to play out as it will. Having led such a volatile life, its entirely unsurprising that he's going to meet a violent end in the next few weeks or months...but, true to form, he is sure as hell going to take a stone or two of flesh with him on the way to the bloody exit. 

"You are not permitted to leave this chamber," Grimshaw finally snaps as the hollows of rage that have become his eyes cause the omega's skin to crawl. "You are allowed no visitors. No contact whatsoever. No food, and absolutely no _Blooded_. If you must feed, you will take from my vein only." Louis pulls an entirely disgusted face, noticing that the alphas hand twitches then balls into a white-knuckled fist. "You disobey me at every opportunity. I forbid you to leave this chamber unless beside me. You leave nonetheless. I tell you not to wear that harlot dress, and you still do so. You flirt with every alpha in the vicinity, and that bloody warrior no less! You shame me. I will tolerate it no more. You will learn to obey, as you will learn I am all you have. You will eat from my hand and drink from my vein. As you will have only my attention. Or have none at all." 

Louis musters an indulgent smile, then giggles a pitchy, mocking trill, "I'd drink my own piss before I dirtied my insides with your blood! But since you say so, my lord, I would rather none." Ironic that Louis only now understands Harry's stubborn refusals. Surely Harry wouldn't think Louis so repulsive...

Well, no, he probably thinks just that. Louis can't even blame him.

With an enraged noise Grimshaw storms further into the room. Louis stands his ground, but before the confrontation breaks out someone clears their throat from the doorway. "M-My lord." A male, beta by the very neutral scent of him, stands just outside looking nervous. His pale skin is sheen with sweat, and Louis almost feels for him. He'd be the same were he that poor male. "Ap-Apologies, my l-lord," he bows, completely ignoring Louis' presence as he's surely been ordered to do, "B-But the Empress require sire's presence." 

Grimshaw straightens, prompt and proper politician style. Louis deadpans. "Of course. Show me to her." With a promising look in those crudely insulting eyes, Grimshaw makes it to the door only pausing to warn him, "You will be under supervision." With that the door shuts firmly behind him. 

For a while Louis just stands there, staring until obsidian dances before his eyes, and he realizes his lungs are screaming for oxygen. He takes one deep breath to shut them up, the stench of sweet cologne turning his tummy. 

Panic plows into him without warning. With fumbling hands Louis rushes to lock all five deadbolts on the door, even knowing rationally it won’t do much against Grimshaw. It’s just that the locks provide a blessed sense of false security. 

Another cold sweat blooms on his skin, skin that begins to burst out in electric blue. In mere seconds, the sapphire sweeps through his veins and vessels. Not again, he thinks through the haze of hysteria, the effort of pulling himself back together is just short of impossible. He refuses to fail this time around. All he has in this entire situation is himself. He is his only weapon; his mind and his body are the only things that nobody can take away from him. He loses them he’s as good as dead.

As his blood sluggishly returns to its natural state all the vestiges of energy drift away, leaving him as he’s always been. Strong, solid, a fortress of unshakeable stone.

He gulps around the arid ache coating his throat, realizing all at once that the struggle with his blue-blooded bother has drained his energy. This is just the start of something far more sinister. It’s been two weeks since his last feeding, and while the species can go months at a time without solid food, blood is an essential nourishment. Without it, there is no chance of survival. The thirst is bound to become an unshakeable acidic agony.

Louis sighs at the thought, then stands, bracing his weight on the wall until the dizziness drifts away. From there the omega makes his way to the adjoining bathroom. In the mirror over the doublewide sinks, he sees his reflection and performs a dispassionate review of himself. The look he’d created no longer exists. His hair is damp with sweat, falling over his brows, and his makeup has long since worn away. For once Louis fits in with his people; he’s pale and his cheeks have hallowed out to a scary point. The bruises all along his body ache for attention, but Louis ignores it all to turn the tap on, splashing his face and then sipping the lukewarm water. It doesn’t sate the thirst at all, in fact it intensifies it into a raw burn.

He cups his throat just for the comfort of it, then kicks out of his heels and pads into his bedroom. In desperate need of his _new-night_ Louis shrugs out of his dress and into a silk, red nightgown that reaches mid-thigh. He’s about to collapse in bed when someone raps on his door.

He freezes, knowing it couldn’t be Grimshaw (he’d _never_ knock). A second, more forceful knock interrupts his thoughts. 

Shaking off his nerves, the omega makes it to the door, inching it open just enough that he can see who could have possibly made it past the guards.

“You shouldn’t open the door for strangers. You never know who is on the other side,” that unforgettable voice steals his breath just as the sight of the alpha standing before him thaws the ice around his heart. That is until Louis remembers the prior events. All those wounded, livid emotions reappear. Louis hisses, “You’re right,” and slams the door in his stupid, gorgeous face. “Go away!” he seethes, slightly out of control. Just _how dare he._ “Go spend your night with someone _worthy._ Shoo! Hurry along now! Dawn is steadily approaching!”

“Louis,” his name on the alpha’s tongue still comes as a lovely shock. “Open the door.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” his voice lilts as he scampers away from the door, “I don’t think I will. I’d like to be alone, actually.”

“No. You wouldn’t like that at all.” It’s the softest Louis’ ever heard his voice. It makes his throat ten times tighter. He has no choice but to pretend he didn’t hear him, because he hate’s being wrong. He hates _anyone else being right._ And Harry is right. He wouldn’t like being alone at all. Unlike the vampire species Louis finds comfort in contact and proximity. It’s a trait Zayn claims to be _very_ lycan.

“I will break the locks,” his voice is sharp enough to tell that he isn’t bluffing. His heart rabbits against his contracting ribcage–without those bloody locks there isn’t any sense of security against _anyone._

“Fine,” he surrenders snidely to cover up the tendrils of shame disabling his greatest talent: acting. He blinks back the crimson tears forming in his eyes, and inhales one calming breath before undoing the locks. He peeks through the door again, meeting his pale stare. “Styles, there’d better be a damn proper reason you’re interrupting my beauty rest.”

Louis has the urge to slap him, kick him, drag him into his room and–, “We need to talk,” Harry says simply.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Louis’ voice betrays him, soft and small. “I have nothing else to say.” 

“That’s novel,” he snorts, a lopsided grin transforming his features. “You never seem to shut up.”

Warmth flares high on his cheeks. He hopes that the alpha can’t tell, but judging by the arrogant gleam in those abruptly dark, emerald eyes, it’s in vain. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly isn’t the last. The look on Harry’s face causes his blush to brighten impossibly. He wants to say something witty, and–

He extends one long arm, then fingertips trace the curve of his cheekbone, leaving imprints of heat. His touch is achingly gentle, convincing him that he’s a fragile glass bound to shatter with any more pressure. “You’re so beautiful,” it’s a faint, mesmerized whisper.

“Yes,” his voice is almost soundless as the flush creeps down his throat. “I am beautiful.”

“Haughty.” His thumb traces Louis’ bottom lip. Under Harry’s attention Louis’ mouth parts to let out shallow, short breaths. He can feel the desire, hot and sweet, unraveling in his belly. “I…” his voice fades when one large hand cups his throat loosely, thumb pressing down on his racing pulse. “I am simply aware of my wo–,”

Fire dances in his stare as it lowers to his mouth. “We need to talk,” but the husky edge to his voice says something else.

“Do we?” he asks softly, pulling his bottom lip between his fangs, peeking through his lashes. “Or are you trying to convince yourself that you came here to simply talk?”

✹✹

               Candlelight illuminates the wide, open corridor, the glow blurring the lines and boundaries but teasing the soft of the omega’s skin. Features fine, Louis of the Clans is beautiful amid the dark Oakwood of what must be his bedroom door, his hair in wild waves. Standing some inches below him, those electric eyes appear lit up, and the tiny bow of his parted lips captures all Harry’s attention.

He lifts one dainty hand so his slim fingers toy with the ends of his hair, then wander down over the silk of his shirt. Something hot hums between them, and betraying him, his cock strains against the material of his trousers, visibly thick and bulging for the small nymph haunting him.

“You don’t want to talk,” the soft hush his voice has taken on is enough to test all the self-restraint he has. His stare travels down the petite curves of his figure. He’s changed since this morning, into a scanty red nightgown that is nothing short of lovely. One strap has slipped down his frail shoulder to his arm, revealing more downy skin. It hangs low enough to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbones, loose around his middle, down to those–

Boldly, Louis’ luscious body closes the distance between them, and though Harry could stop it, he doesn’t. There’s the softest, sweetest omega pressed against him, curves and hollows and such warm. A warm he aches for. Just as seductive his fragrance invades his senses, drugging his mind. “You want me.” _Goddess, he does._ “You came to my room tonight just to make sure nobody else was here with me.”

He isn’t sure that is true, but when the omega says it he _believes it._

 _Mine._ It’s an all-encompassing need, to mark him as only _his._ He wants to get him out of the silk and underneath him. He wants to be all he knows, and all he thinks about all the time. He wants him covered in his scent. He wants to lay with him. He wants to fuck him.

Like this the alpha sees it happening, sees them skin-to-skin in the bedchamber he’d grown up, Harry on top of him with his legs spread to accommodate his hips and his–

With a possessed growl, Harry’s hands drag down his side before bunching the silk material around his hips. A small gasp echoes in his ears as delicate fingers fist his hair. There’s something about him that drives him mad _._ He’s _stuck_ on him, hand reaching up to round his throat, squeezing softly to show him _he_ is a worthy mate, he can take care of him. He’s acting as an alpha who wants to bond, and couldn’t bear to stop. He wants all, or nothing. Nothing is not an option.

“Kiss me,” he purrs. “Take me.”

Instinct is a compulsion he is helpless against, his mouth latching onto the silk, soft skin of his slender neck. Against his tongue the omega tastes like sunshine, on fire and _alive._ Life hums beneath his skin, against his lips, beckoning his vampire. His fangs spring from his gums, and he just barely refrains from taking his vein. He pants against his skin, pinning him to the wall. His voice is high, breathy, “You wanna make sure, Haz. You wanna make sure you’re the only…the only one that can… _don’t stop…”_ It ends in a pretty mewl as his back bows beautifully. He growls against the base of his throat, the points of his fangs running down his collarbones.

The approaching thuds of footsteps cracks the cloud of desperation over their heads. He calls on the bit of control he’s reserved. “Is this what you want, sunshine?” he asks raggedly before dragging his fangs up the column of his delicious neck to the base of his jaw. He groans low in his throat, responding to the wanton whimper this earns him.

“Yes,” the vulnerability in his voice excites his vampire and confuses him as the soft creature buries his face in his shoulder, gyrating his hips. He realizes in a rush that his miniature legs have rounded his hips, the red material of his nightgown bunches at his hips. He can feel the pleasure from his pressure against his cock. Nothing compares to this, _him._ “Don’t stop,” he pants softly, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Don’t you want me, Haz?”

It’s shattering, how this strong creature is so soft for him. Without permission, his fingers trace the curve of the small vampire’s spine, attempting comfort. He’s never comforted anything in his life. He just goes by what feels right, nosing at his temple as Louis clings to him. “Stop,” he mutters, willing himself to get away from this dangerous creature before it’s too bloody late. “Talk, Louis, not touch.”

“You’re touchin’ me right now. You want–,” _like he needs to be reminded of just how bad he wants him._

“Louis,” he interrupts sharply. “I want to talk.”

“That’s what you think you want.” A short, indignant snuffle as the hands in his hair tug pointedly. “But ‘m the compass, comrade, and _you_ are my lowly ship. I lead _you_ where you need to be.”

An odd emotion, _amusement,_ comes over him. He loses the battle against the answering curve of his mouth. A smile, he knows. “And I suppose that would be inside of you, _dhraga?”_

He giggles, that eerie beautiful chime. “Aye, Captain.”

He’s losing himself to the omega he’s hated so long when the footsteps grow in strength and sound, closing in. Impulsively he reaches up to untangle Louis’ limbs, then rotates him in the same movement. He flattens his hand on the small of his back, ushering him through the Oakwood, shutting the door with a finality behind him.

It’s an interesting room, with a whole bout of personality. It’s expansive, surely too large for one small boy. His four walls are a deep red, adorned by weapons, posters, graffiti and things Harry can’t even name. Along these walls are also an array of framed photos; he pays close attention to them, slightly shaken how Louis stands starkly out beside any of his kin. He recognizes some of the people in the photos, most are of the politicians lycan mate, of the Malik Clan. There are a couple of a fledgling Louis paired with Grimshaw and the Elders, and even a few with Louis and his death-dealing brothers. He has to tear his eyes away to keep from getting too absorbed in these photos, in his life.

There’s an ostentatious chandelier strung in the center of the room. What appears to be knickers are caught in the webbed designs.

The furthest wall is entirely glass, giving way to an extraordinary view of the outside world. He assumes steel shutters will draw closed upon sunrise.

There’s a lounge with a flat screen television propped on the wall surrounded by game consoles, leather sofas enclose the space. A tall bookshelf stands opposite to the sofa, all books intact.

There are two doors, both closed. He assumes one must be his wardrobe, and wonders where the little devil keeps his armory. Shoes and other unknowns litter the white carpet.

With his signature enchanting giggle, the small assassin skips over to the sumptuous canopied bed that sits beside one of those doors. As he settles feathers from the pillows float above in an easy sway. “Welcome!” On his belly, with his ankles crossed, Louis props himself up on his elbows. A strand of hair curls over one of his spellbinding eye. He allows his stare to wonder down the thin length of him. “It’s impolite to stare.” He claps his hands so the chandelier rains light down on them. He notices something he hadn’t before with an unsettling clarity.

The petite bluestocking on the mattress has lost weight. The silk is extremely loose around his breakable body, his thighs nearing the span of his arm. He does not look like the vibrant creature he’d seen just weeks ago. His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut. His skin has lost its glow, black and blue has bloomed on the skin of his face.

He’s beautiful. Goddess, of course he is…

Just…not as he should be. It’s a toxic thought, eating at him.

He continues his assessment, struck with the need to strip the material from his body. Not to be inappropriate, but to measure the exact weight loss, to see whether his supple skin is bruised as well. “What’s with that look?” the omega asks, a defiant storm brewing his startling eyes. “Am I uncomely now?”

Stunned, the alpha opens his mouth, but finds he’s speechless. _Well, damn._ He blinks in confusion.

 _“Fuck. You.”_ Rolling onto his back Louis tosses an arm over his face, mumbling, “Just go, H. I don’t know why you bothered comin’ here in the first place…You’re makin’ it all worse,” his voice breaks, and his other around sunken in belly protectively, shielding his view. “I am not weak.” He isn’t, Harry learnt this the hard way.  

He still doesn’t understand what is happening here. “Louis, I–,”

“Nay,” his accent thickens, and it’s particularly erotic. “Leave me. I’d rather deal with Grimshaw than see you lookin’ at me like that. Lookin’ at me like…like… _that.”_ As his voice lifts a single tear, red and thick, stains his cheek. Lovely, now he’s made him cry _._

He hasn’t any idea how he’s to remedy this situation, only that he must. He must.

Anger doesn’t exist in this enclosed, intimate space, at least not directed at the creature he’s become all too invested in. Drawing out an uneasy breath, Harry crosses the room, shoving the shimmery curtains away so he can kneel on the mattress. It sinks underneath his weight, but he remains steady, his hand covering the space of Louis’ bare knee. The contact sends a magnetic charge up his arm, the sensation the raw and hot. He clenches his teeth to keep from hissing and baring his fangs as a demand of submission.

He acts without thinking; nudging his thighs apart just enough that he can fit between them. He doesn’t dare take a breath, knowing better than to test his control any more than he already has. Instead he grips his thin, frail wrists between two fingers, prying his arms away to fasten them above his head. “Look at me,” he orders quietly.

Of course, he hides his face to the best of his ability, nosing at the duvet. A faint sound of disapproval builds in his chest, “Sunshine, look at me. I am not asking, and I won’t say it again.”

Louis’ answering growl is helpless and enraged as he faces him, wide-eyed and utterly breathtaking. He almost can’t take it, how his irises seem to house both storms and sunshine. Staring back at him Louis’ deep blue eyes are a kind of nirvana, the colour like that of a warm, darkening sky. His red mouth is parted just a bit, breath warm and damp, reminding him that the flavor of the omegas skin lingers on his lips. “You are so very lovely. Flawless, princess. You’re…flawless. And there isn’t one being who thinks otherwise.”

“You do,” the vampire beneath him says, the defeated note to his hushed voice are shards severing his right mind. He thinks he won’t ever look away from him. He thinks losing the sight of sunshine would be too devastating now. He can feel _it_ bathing his body for this strong yet unsteady, this sad yet giggly, this reckless, untamed, and _mad_ creature.

His scent darkens, emanating from his skin with the sole purpose of coating the omega underneath him. Of marking him.

“Sunshine,” the jagged sound is his voice, intimate and soft as possible with how its deepened. He dips forward, taking his mouth with care he hadn’t had before. It’s more a comfort for him than Louis. Even so he can feel him giving in, his mouth softening just as rapidly as his body. He takes both wrists in one hand so his other can stroke his hair out of his face, then run over his features. His lips are so sweet, and pliable.

He stays like this a while, mesmerized.

Urgency thunders through him as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, groaning when the omega gasps. It’s permission enough for Harry to get in his mouth, his tongue dominating Louis’ as the vampire arches beneath him. His legs circle his waist, the heels of his tiny feet digging into his back.

A fervor furies between them, so wild he’s burning. Burning without pain, burning all over on the inside. “Sunshine,” he says huskily against his mouth, reaching down to grip the flesh of his thigh. Feeling his skin, so smooth and heated. He shoves his hips down, the pressure more for the whining omega than himself. But Goddess above it shouldn’t be allowed to feel like this, like hell and heaven.

“Sunshine,” is the only word he comes up with as he rocks against him, taking extreme care with his thin figure. He keeps his strength to the bare minimum, determined not to hurt him. It’s never been so difficult to maintain himself; his alpha is roaring with the most energy he’s had since his first rut, nearly two centuries ago. His knot threatens to thicken his cock, aching against the rough material of his trousers. He’s preparing for defeat, no match for the beauty beneath him. “I didn’t mean it. You’re worthy of the sun, the moon, anything and everything. I want so badly to have you. Here, on your bed.”

His mouth widens with his moan, and though they’re no longer kissing Harry’s inhales his every breath. He wants him more than anything _._ His little white fangs are protruding from his mouth, and he thinks he’s losing his mind when he imagines those tiny daggers in his skin. “Have you ever been taken ‘ere? On your bed, princess _?”_ The thought is enough to send his alpha into a fit of possessive fury.

His figure stiffens enough that the alpha forces himself to break their contact. He watches him until delicious pink dusts his cheeks. “I…I’ve never been taken anywhere.” His pink, tiny tongue swipes across his bruised bottom lip nervously.

Ice rains down on him. He recoils despite the roar in his blood that tells him to stay. As he shoves a hand through his hair, he scoffs, “You’re an innocent _?”_

Louis sits up, chest rising and falling frantically. “You say that like it’s a terrible thing. What the hell did you expect, Styles?” He only tosses the omega a disparaging look. “What idiot would bed me, anyway? All the alpha’s ‘round these parts are afraid of Aiden, and I’m not interested in cowards or pigs. I am an omega of worth, for Goddess’ sake! And the most accomplished assassin to live! I have a sterling reputation to uphold!” _Aiden._ He’s distracted by how the omega says Grimshaw’s name so…cozily.

He shakes that strange anger away to correct him dismissively, “Ghost assassin, and by allowing an alpha into your bedchamber your reputation is formally ruined.”

Leaning forward, Louis tilts his head. “Are you honestly pissed because nobody’s fucked me yet?” But that’s wrong. Harry feels no anger towards him. He feels…unworthy as an alpha who has never touched such territory. Mating him would be an awful idea for many reasons.

“We aren’t having this conversation,” he mutters, shoving another hand through his hair, ripping strands out this time.

“Fine,” the omega smiles tightly before rising stiffly from the mattress and storming towards the door. “I can just as easily find another warrior to take me. Maybe then I’ll meet your standards.”

A growl rips through him, just as much a warning as the bonding scent pours out of his skin. His vision shifts into red, basic instinct rearing its head. “If I’m so bloody lovely,” the small menace persists pertly, “any other warrior would never deny me! You can use your fookin’ hand while one of your brothers fucks me better than you ever could.” This is probably true, they probably could take better care of him. Harry should let go. He can’t.

He struts to the door and even opens it. On overwrought impulse Harry catches him around the waist and carries him inside, slamming the door so hard the borders shake in protest. Of course, the little monster begins to scream at the top of his lungs, “Let me go! You arrogant arsehole! I will slice–,” reaching behind him the omega fists his hair, reeling his legs forwards then back to kick him. It’s forceful enough that Harry _swears_ his femur snaps. He grits his teeth against the flare of pain this sparks, tightening his grip while dragging them both towards the bed to keep his weight off the bone.

“Get. Away!” Nails rake down his throat. “Goddess, I pity you! You’re either an animal or a robot! You’re a machine with nothing to offer but hatred _._ It’s no wonder you’re so alone! Everything you touch, you _ruin._ You’re a cruel pitiful _valkryn.”_ Voiced like that, from him _,_ does more damage than all his years with the Executioner. It crushes whatever heart he had left in him after so long; twists like the vicious bite of a blade in the empty space the vampirical entity has stayed, leaving him an empty shell. A shell being overflowed with the anger that’s always replaced this filthy, _hurt_ feeling. “I am sick that the race depends on the likes of _you!_ You can’t even–,”

“Stop,” he commands, and just like that the struggle drains from Louis’ body. As the rage escalates, his own frame tremors and his ears ring. He lets go of Louis to avoid crushing him as the power surges through him. It’s an anger that’s been pent from these months of captivity, of dealing with _exactly this_ –his vampire is sprouting, and he can only hope the numb blankets it. He’s only felt this level of anger towards the Executioner, right before he slit the tendons behind his kneecaps and ankles only to set fire to his body.

Funny that even now as the darkness in him grows, he doesn’t trust himself with the fragile gift of Louis. He can’t shake the sense that his hands are covered in blood, his mind even more so; and it’s only staining the one he can’t help but treasure most of all.

He’s the cloud that will unavoidably hide the sunshine away. 

&&

Dread ripples down Louis’ spine as he tumbles quite gracelessly onto the floor. Goddess above, he’s done it this time. He doesn’t even know how to protect himself against whatever he’s triggered, and he’s far too freaked to figure it out anyway. Reacting to the threat on deep, frightening levels, the _it_ in him flares to life in a way he’s never experienced before. He looks up to find he’s looking through the eyes of something cruel and calculating. Standing in shudders some feet away Harry clutches his head as if in great pain. His emotional grid is not the only thing that’s lit up; the shadow behind is likewise afire with anguish and wrath. Emotions Louis should not be able to see.

It’s like the two parts of the death-dealer are both in a kind of mourning no doubt because he’s suffered.

And where all that puts Harry emotionally terrifies him– _this_ is what stone-cold feels like. The dense black void created in him is so powerful it warps the superstructure of his psych, taking him where Louis hasn’t ever been despite everything. Taking him to the pinpoint of madness.

“Haz,” he says, goosebumps rising on his skin. He truly has done it again. This is Grimshaw, only worse. Goddess, he’s a damn black widow–ruining males of worth with every word. Every single alpha that’s attempted to court him…he has ruined. Shamed them. Hurt and ruined and destroyed and damn it Louis is a black widow. Under different circumstances that would please him, but not now. “Easy…”

He doesn’t look up, although he isn’t sure whether the alpha is even aware that Louis is standing and making his way to him. He’s lost in his mind, sucked in and held in the vices…

“Stay away.” As Louis steps in before him Harry looks up, but it’s not the crimson he’s seen before in his eyes–the whites have become a red sea of lethal intent. Louis recoils, repelled by his voice. Sibilant and sonorous, it reverberates across the room and back, threatening to rupture his eardrums. Even as Louis bites back a scream from the sudden torment, the sound saps the vital energy from him. Warmth seeps from his ears, followed by an odd _whooshing_ sound. Disorientation comes over him in a rush.

Out of nowhere his door bursts open and guards barrel in. It’s too abrupt for his lethargic mind to process. The two scurry towards him, obviously deeming him in danger. They don’t even make it–Louis could’ve told them they wouldn’t.

Six feet of lean muscle slams into the nearest, bulkier of the two, ramming the male through the door. They must collide with the wall, if the heavy _thud_ is anything to go by. Of course, the remaining guard follows them, leaving him alone. He can sort of hear the struggle, but chooses to close his eyes and just try to collect himself.

There are gurgled shouts and snarls, some sad uproar then: silence _._

When Harry trudges in seconds later he’s clutching his side. Delicious fluid stains his hand. There is blood smeared on his nose, but when his stare finds him it’s returned to it’s natural, impassive state. Concern lances through him, but he can’t seem to find his voice.

There isn’t even a hint of emotion in Harry’s eyes as they regard him. “I shall do you no harm. I want nothing more to do with you.” Going by the harsh tone of his voice Louis can’t trust those words: anger marks the syllables he speaks, turning them into verbal blades. Blood drips onto the carpet, and his gaze impulsively follows the sparkling droplets. A wrecking ball of bloodlust floors him for three heartbeats. He just barely keeps from licking the carpet. His tongue is thick in his dry mouth.

“I apologize,” Harry Styles, damn him for being so disgustingly proper even now, mutters hollowly. “I’ll be sure to have someone clean that on my way out.” Just like that his long legs start away. Louis swallows, and speaks hoarsely from scalding flesh, “Haz, wait.”

He disappears nonetheless, his footsteps fading down the corridor. Clenching his jaw, Louis stands even lightheaded and stumbles after him. He’s aware he is sprinting through the maze of corridors, then running towards the grand stairway that leads into the foyer, aware that he sees in tunnel-vision, and that his body is screaming at him to _stop._ He’s exhausted, but pushes past it until he reaches the head of the stairway. He can make out Harry’s retreating figure now.

“Haz,” he calls, voice sounding faraway. “Please, don’t…don’t go.” His muscles give up, and he grinds to the ground with a wince.

With his head spinning Louis accepts that he’s worked himself too hard. That the part of his life with Harry Styles is at its ends. He is floating; someplace special and sunlit when Harry’s voice startles him all the way awake, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Crouched beside him, the alpha stares with an intensity that leaves him shivering. His proximity heats Louis’ skin drastically. “Didn’t mean all that stuff,” he mutters, grateful that he has no blood to spare on tears at this point. “I wasn’t thinkin’. I hear you, yeah? You’re so much more than those things. No matter how I act or talk…I am _with you_. I was just bein’...”

Out of the whole all Harry acknowledges is, “A brat.”

“Deal with it,” Louis giggles, then winces at the renewed pain doing so summons. Oxygen is certainly _not_ helping.

“Tell me, _lera.” Lovely._ Butterflies would be spreading in his belly if it wasn’t convulsing in dry, heaving hunger-pains.

Louis pokes his dry tongue out, then shakes his head once. “Nothing about me is lovely right now, Styles. ‘M all dried up.”

“Louis,” he says in a measured voice. “It’s an unwise idea to patronize me right now.”

“’M not, I swear it,” he slurs, then giggles at his own humor, “’M _literally_ dried up, Haz.” When the other does not seem to get it (he’s far too tired to explain), he forces one deadweight arm up so his hand grips Harry’s bicep. He tugs until the other gives. Louis holds his gaze, bringing their hands up to his neck, drawing it down his chest to his belly. One of Harry’s hands covers the entire span. It’s a reassuring pressure. Like this he doesn’t feel so empty.

Understanding comes to life in Harry’s eyes. “When is the last time you ate? Or fed _?”_

“Mhm,” he sighs unhelpfully, trusting Harry to know and do for him. His head lolls just a bit.

“Sunshine, listen to me. You are not to fall asleep,” the alpha in his voice is impossible to go against. Biology stills bites back, casting a muddled haze over his brain.

“Make me.”                                                                                                      

“Behave.”

“Wha’s in it for me?”

“I’m here... I’ll take care of you, princess _.”_ He’s in no need of rescuing

Louis giggles breathlessly, lashes fluttering so he can stare through cloudy eyes. “And how d’you intend to do that?”

It jumpstarts his heart when Harry says earnestly, “The only way I know how.”

He doesn’t respond, just allows the alpha to lift him up readily. He’s more than content to be cradled like this; and if he had it his way Harry would be carrying him like this for the rest of eternity. Goddess above, Harry Styles is pure strength and safety. It’s all too comforting; the mere drum of his heartbeat luring Louis towards his _new-night._

Stubbornly, Louis opens his eyes, and realizes all at once where they’ve gotten to: the lounge. It’s the _vymia’s_ evil lair, where all those posh and stuck-up deliberate who they will sink their fangs into next.

He almost bares his own when all pairs of cold stares latch onto them. Even without his newfound second sight Louis can see right into their shallow skulls. It almost makes him question whether all this is worth fighting for.

Harry doesn’t even seem to notice their audience; he moves with purpose, just faster than the most well trained human being could, but nowhere near a vampire’s potential. If the omega didn’t know better, if he weren’t so smitten, he’d think the alpha was just the same as all the other elite.

He isn’t on the inside, though. Inside Harry Styles is blood and guts and chocolate cake.

Goddess above, Louis wishes he could love him back already.

In the lull, it all becomes a blur of faces and scents from that point on. That is until Harry’s voice resonates through his entire body, bringing that eerie electricity over him. It’s like falling into the white noise of a television, “You are to sit still,” he feels his arse, covered only in thin silk, settle on a solid surface. He whines low in his throat at the cold. “Now.”

He’s too tired to deny him his stupid satisfaction this time. He listens, with an indignant scoff of course. “Thank you, princess,” Harry says softly, and Louis wants to ask what for but loses the words the second Harry’s hand squeezes on the back of his neck. All the tension drains from his body, and _he’s_ just thankful that Harry lingers long enough for him to gain some control over himself. He focuses on staying upright, only opening his eyes when the microwave hums to life.

And there is Harry, standing before the machine, staring so intensely Louis almost thinks the thing might combust.

“Starin’ won’t make it go any faster.”

Seems it’s all in Harry’s favor as the microwave lets out a disagreeing _ping_ not even seconds later. Harry tosses him an extremely dark scowl, but doesn’t comment before pulling out what must be his food. He knows the scent by now, _loe:_ the food of fledglings. A wonderful concoction intended for the sensitive stomachs of vampire young _,_ some starch and blood and herbs and magic (“ _a gift”_ Marcus had told him many years ago _)._

It’s comfort food, and though he’s sure Harry’s only warmed this because it’s easy on the stomach, he can’t shake the voice that says maybe it’s more than just that. The _maybe_ eases him better than the actual _loe_ could.

His vampire could care less; the bloodlust pitches to the forefront of his mind. He just has to beat it back before the _blue_ does.

Just as Harry warns, “You should wait to have this until you’ve–,” Louis snatches the Tupperware (obvious leftovers) from his hands (honest, Harry has such faith in him if he thinks he’d really _wait)._

Using the last of his strength Louis begins to shovel spoonsful of the delicacy in his mouth. He’s downed most of the dish when his stomach clenches up in a tight fist. He doubles over in pain, and clenches his teeth so hard he thinks they might just break under the force.

He must blackout because he doesn’t know how he ends up in his bedroom, but then he is. Sluggishly, Louis blinks, then sighs happily when his hair is smoothed back from his eyes by a touch his omega knows all too well. _Harry._ He’s here, and just _having him here_ means Louis doesn’t have to fight for a while. Harry can do the bloody fighting, it’s his knowhow after all.

There’s just one problem: the thirst is unbearable _._

Harry must see how much he’s hurting because in the same instance he acts, shrugging out of his jacket to drape it around Louis’ bare shoulders. He shudders, swamped in the bulky material’s warmth just as much as how Harry lifts his arm with an almost nervous, “Here. Take,” and teases his dry lips with the skin of his wrist.

Louis hums, and noses at his skin, but otherwise ignores that to lean further in. He’s not in the mood for mind games; his omega won’t stand to be treated like just another pity offering.

“You can tell me to stop,” he says breathlessly against the shell of his ear. “But I’d rather starve than take from your wrist.”

A hand settles on the back of his neck, fingers sneaking into his hair. He shivers, letting his lashes flutter shut because he’s begun to see in shades of brilliant blues. He doesn’t care, not when Harry’s keeping him close. “Always so difficult.”

His lips part, and he can feel the thick cords of Harry’s veins beneath his mouth. He can feel his own skin warming up from the inside out, heat sweeping through his bloodstream. “Whatever turns you on.” He can feel that too, that the alpha wants it just as bad, the bulge of his cock in his trousers pressed up into his arse. Just as well as he can feel the slick, warm and just wet enough, getting him ready for more than Harry’s love and his heart.

Goddess above, Louis loves what Harry does to his body.

“Let’s skip the small talk, sunshine, before I change my–,”

He buries his hands in Harry’s hair, fisting the soft tuffs, and draws his fangs to full view. His vampire rejoices the second Louis strikes, and Harry goes rigid with a slightly feral hiss. It must’ve hurt, that was Louis’ intention, but Harry doesn’t jerk at all.

And the exact second all that warmth pours into his mouth his mind hotwires, time stops, and he moans brokenly in bliss. His taste is all vivid essence; a lovely roar in his mouth, an invasion against his tongue, and then he swallows. The torrent of power rips through him, a forest fire in the marrow of Louis’ bones, an explosion that hits his heart in a glorious rush of strength. He trembles so badly, listening only to the sound of his heartbeat. It’s hard, and forceful, and best of all: it’s his now.

&

               When the points of Louis’ tiny dagger-like fangs bury themselves in his flesh Harry’s thoughts are stunted by raw sensation. It swamps him, makes him think this is what swimming in sunlight would feel like: breathtaking and fiery. Latched onto him like this the small vampire burns brilliantly, his skin a vivid and vibrant blue all over, flourishing with an unreal energy. Energy that surely belongs on a wavelength far beyond their own. Divine, and riveting.

 _Blue-eyes._ The baby blue angel from all those ages ago.

He knows just how the species would see him; how this would rule Louis as born to die. Knows he’d agree if it were anyone else. But it’s not, it’s _Blue-eyes._ And because of that, _him,_ Harry would risk it all. He’s already being infected and poisoned by thoughts of how bright the small vampire lives. He is so very alive, and all Harry knows is it gives him more reason to live than any noble purposes.

He’s aware, it just doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all become…complicated. He makes him want to change.

Which is exactly why Harry shuts his eyes and shoves his fingers into the omegas silky hair. With no resistance, Louis’ plaint body aligns perfectly against his own, and the blissed-out mewl sets fire to his body. He feels it all over, settling into it, then shuddering when the small vampire’s hand reaches up, fingertips of lightening tracing the curve of his cheekbone just to rest on his jaw. His touch is a kind of drug. No, _he_ is the most addictive kind of drug that Harry is shooting straight to the heart. Goddess, he could even be a cure; a cure for the vacancy.

He inhales like it’s his last breath just to keep clashing with his scent, his very suppressed scent. He vows if there be one thing he’ll put a stop to its scent-suppressants.

He feels like roses, his fangs the thorns. His skin is soft as flowers. Soft and–

He’s torn from his dreamland when Louis’ draws soften, all the electricity his skin emits being blocked off like the sunlight during a solar eclipse. He used to appreciate those brief moments in time in which there was no distinction between sun and night walkers. He’s never understood what it was about good things, why they never lingered long enough to make a difference.

He stopped looking for an answer to that. It’s how life goes.

But this, having the light sucked away by yet another blackhole…can’t be. He wants to fight for this, for _him;_ it’s not an obligation or a birthright, it’s…special and it’s good and he’s going to fight against fate for it. His fire’s been burnt out a long time, but the moment he thinks about having this one soul taken from life, sparks fly. “Don’t stop. Stay this time.”

_Stay this time._

He feels the slight tug of his fangs, the sweet heat of his breath, as he sighs, “fancy my alpha’s alive.”

His low growl of displeasure roughens into one of feral menace when the door directly across from them is thrown open. Louis mewls softly in confusion, straightening to find the cause of his hostility. The loss of Louis’ bite only intensifies his alpha’s frenzy. Aiden Grimshaw stands in the doorway with crimson eyes of disgust and fury. Terror stains them just as Harry bares his fangs, more than ready to lash out for the intrusion, for the torment he’s been wreaking on the fallen seraph in his arms.

Louis’ dainty hand bears down with force on his jaw until Harry has no choice but to reluctantly look at him. His ruby-red lips are in full-tilt, revealing the tips of his blood-stained fangs. A storm brews in his brilliant ocean eyes just before he turns them–and that grin–to the politician. All in the same second Louis’ leaning into him with a soft and satisfied sigh, becoming something small and submissive again. 

He feels the sudden sting of Louis’ next strike, but doesn’t react aside from the slight incline of his head, the drug-induced trance rushing like blood to his brain. 

Bloodthirsty, not for survival but revenge, his glare doesn’t leave the other males, all the while ordering evenly, “Leave us,” and tacking on venomously, “And wait at the end of the corridor, I require a word with you.”

Grimshaw blanches, opening his mouth to speak, though Harry’s through with listening. There’s an undeniable resonance in his voice, reminding the politician who the dominant alpha is. “ _Leave us._ Now _._ And dare you speak, those words will be your last.” He so badly wants him to speak, but his jaw locks as a shadow darkens his expression before he bows stiffly, and closes the door behind him.

He’s always loathed cowards.

“I don’t need protection from him, Harry,” there’s a trace of annoyance in his voice, reminding Harry of who he is. Someone who is more a danger to him than any alpha out there. He’s proved it, and Harry has never been one to underestimate anyone. His sire had underestimated him; alas what Harry lacked in size at that dark time of existence, he made up for in brains.

Harry clears his throat, voice raspy but without timbre this time. “I am aware. It’s him who needs protection from me.” He fists his hair in his hand and tugs, meaning to put distance between them. All it does is leave imprints of heat from Louis’ damp, open-mouthed kisses all along his jaw.

“Easy. His time will come when I am ready for it. Do not,” his fangs scrape down the column of his throat without breaking skin, “make me your enemy.” He is too starstruck by sensation to even resist Louis’ abrupt attack; then his back is pinned to the mattress.

He just lays there, looking up at the creature in his lap, vision flooded by the waters of his irises, icy near the onyx of his tiny pupils. His small hand almost can’t round his throat, and he would be completely taken by that, but he’s distracted by Louis leaning in. “You don’t know what I’m capable of, Styles,” his voice is sweet and irresistible despite the stark warning in his voice, the intense glow in depths of his eyes. His temperature spikes with desire, heating his blood like the thrill of the fight. He feels the passion of war on wild levels.

He means to lift his hand, to touch, but finds his limbs unresponsive. All the fight in him leaves in a hurry when Louis frowns, something sad and utterly sickening creeping into his gaze. He feels like he’s been shot through the chest. “I didn’t ask to be this way, but I’m sick of the way of things. I’m going to put an end to it.”

He wants to believe him against all the odds. “How.”

His voice is nearly inaudible. “I’m the best weapon we’ve got at this point, Haz. They’ve got ultraviolet artillery, and we’ve got nothing but our bruised bodies. We are going to die off if it continues this way. Just give me the chance to set things right. I need him _alive._ I need you to believe in me, because nobody else will. Give me the clear. You are the only one they’ll believe over Grimshaw.” His touch is forgiving and oddly kind, sweeping a stray strand of hair away from his eye. “And when it’s all said and done you’ll even the score with _that one_ for me, won’t you?”

To keep from sinking in that bottomless gaze Harry shuts his eyes. His mind races onward until, “You’re asking me to lie.”

“I’m askin’ you to trust me.”

“How can I?” he mutters, despite knowing his minds already been made.

“Haz, look at me.” He gives him no choice, that silky purr in his voice. He is just as stunned by his beauty as the first time. He’s aglow once again. “I have never once told a lie I did not have to. Outside of my presentation I have never lied to you. I’ve evaded, and I’ve refused to answer, sure, but never outright lied. And I am not lying now. I’m willing to sacrifice my life as much as you are. I have to do this. This…This is what I was meant to do.” Goddess, it happens again–when Harry feels like he’s dead Louis revives him. He makes him feel young again. He makes him feel nothing at all for the years that led him here.

He sees a goodness in him that is guiltless and pure. He knows guilty, has seen much of it in his lifetime. There is nothing of the negative on his face, in his eyes.

His mind fleetingly finds Gemma–she gave her life for the good she saw in Lucien. For the first time Harry understands how she could do that. In that moment Harry decides no matter what the Clans say he will rule him innocent. As Executioner his ruling takes the majority. From now on he’ll be with the omega always, acting as a keeper whether the small creature knows it or not. Watching over him, defending him.  

He finds his hand warming under the omega’s thin wrist, “So be it.”


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another>:D
> 
> All my love xx

Louis can feel his veins soaking up the strength in Harry’s blood. It sweeps away all the aches of his body, warming his sensitive skin. He softens, a purring malleable mess in the alphas arms. His reaction amazes him, an unashamed reminder that what runs through Harry’s veins is nothing like the rest of the species, nothing like his own. It’s the purest and richest of all the bloodlines as a direct descendent of Nyx.

Fascinated Louis stares down at him hazy-eyed, wishing to see what it is about Harry’s heart that his omega desires so deeply.

A needle of hope tears a hole in his heart before he can banish the thought: _Mine. Mine forever._  

His mind immediately fires back: _get a grip._ It’s this hesitation that steals the moment away from him. “The Clans will be here this nightfall. Grimshaw I will first handle personally.”

Which right, reality.

Startled from his headspace the omega blinks owlishly, falling short of words. His response is unnecessary though. In all their centuries the Executioners have reigned with a supremacy not even the Elders could challenge. Harry is no exception, used to giving orders and having these orders directly followed without question or falter. 

Louis can’t have that– _him_ calling the shots. Too prideful, too invested in this…this _thing_ he’s forced the alpha into.

He goes to say so when Harry takes back the hand on his wrist, sits up and urges him onto the mattress. In the same movement he stands straight and unwavering as if he hadn’t just been drained of a few quarts of his blood.

His omega notices. Goddess, how could he _not?_ Strength of this sort is what every omega seeks in a mate. Evolution hasn’t quite caught up to their hardwired instinct this much is obvious. He’s not sure it ever will.

He doesn’t mind though. A part of him adores that Harry is the strength of the species, the power and the pain.

_Power and pain._

A devious, fierce lust collides with him in a rush. His fangs threaten to spring from his gums even though he’d just fed. His vampire already longs for more.

He isn’t sated, and that–

_No more._ He forces himself to focus, to open his bloody mouth. “And I suppose ‘m to stay ‘ere and let you handle it now?”

A pair of glorious green eyes regard him from where the alpha stands at the foot of the bed. Refusing to relent, to show some sort of submission Louis stares back at him. It’s becomes uncomfortable quickly as he remembers just how much he hates the way Harry looks at him sometimes.

Honest, he shouldn’t even say _at him._ That’s too personal, and thus far it’s been true, Harry is impersonal in most all ways. It’s how he looks at the world.

Suddenly all the small assassin wants is to the change the way this alpha looks at him, at the world.

There are no traces of emotion on his face, but Louis can see something lurking in his eyes. Something he often holds back.

On a surge of frustration, he wishes he knew how to call his blue-problem forward, to _work it_. He should’ve known better. Nothing happens, and he almost laughs at the absurdity of it all.

When the alpha responds there is a slow reluctance in his voice, and his dark brows have drawn together. “No. What you do is up to you.”

Louis sinks his fangs into his bottom lip and chews thoughtlessly. It’s short-lived.

He doesn’t even see Harry move, but then he is standing over him, an intimidating tower of alpha. His hand is warm and calloused and careful as it cups his face, and Louis honestly can’t keep up with this male.

He’s too glorious, and Louis is starstruck in every way by every part of this whole thing. His thumb drags along the lips until he can’t help but part them for him. His brain short-circuits under Harry’s contact. All at once he’s aware of all his heat, and the scent delicious he’s covering him in.

“I feel protective of you.” See this is what gets Louis every time. Harry Styles does not understand social cues. He talks the only way he knows how: brutally honest. And when he isn’t brutally honest his words are awkward and forced, in no way convincing. “But you can take care of yourself, right princess?”

A breathless laugh leaves his lips even though he feels clean out of air in his lungs. He brings his trembling hand up to lay it flat on Harry’s chest, right above his heart. He can feel it pumping proudly, a resilient beat. “Til next time, comrade.”

He doesn’t expect Harry to draw him close, but his body gives no resistance even so. His nose buries itself in Louis’ hair, and he smiles secretly into Harry’s chest, feeling nothing but a strange shimmer of joy. Harry whispers something in the Old Language, quick and fluent enough that Louis will need time to make something out of it.

With force he numbs himself to this love-ridden spell he’d been under, pulling away from the embrace despite how the alpha is all muscle around him. That’s all it takes really.

In short strides Harry’s long legs make it to the door, averting his stare. Louis wonders idly what he is hiding in his eyes. Goddess help him Louis vows to right all his wrongs one day, to give light back to his beautiful eyes.

Harry pauses with his hand gripping the handle. “Fare thee well, sunshine.”

It’s haunting, the feeling that comes with goodbye.

&&

               The moment Harry leaves the small vampire is the exact moment he wants to go back. He clenches his teeth and uses his centuries of self-restraint to keep himself planted outside the door. The thought never occurred to him that one day he would want to go back to that omega.

That tiny demon of an omega. Who imprisoned him. Who force-fed him. Who taunted and talked too much.

Yet he understands it wholly. Understands how he could want to go back to that tiny angel of an omega. Who sees right through every last bit of him. Who has the strength of sunlight. Who is clean in spiritual ways, pure and _good._   

_“Please, never stop fighting. You fight for what is in your heart. Promise me. Swear it!”_ Gemma’s words resonate in his head clear as the disgusting day she’d said them. His heart had hollowed out before he could find what was there to fight for. Perhaps the species, or Nyx.

He hadn’t stopped fighting, but he hasn’t an idea what he’s been fighting for.

Not that he could figure it out like this.

No, his brain is up on a shelf somewhere, far out of reach of his body, far out of sight. He is only instinct after his omega’s feeding, his sole focus on him.

Everything about him, about Harry, is suddenly different. And urgent.

He needs himself in that small omega in as many ways as possible, and not the temporary sort that intercourse he’s heard provides. He needs to leave himself behind: mark him, get his blood and his come in him, and then repeat the process again tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

He has to be all over him so that every alpha on the planet knows that if they get near him they are going to face Harry until they spit their teeth out and need splints for their arms and legs.

_Mine._

Catching sight of Grimshaw, waiting for him at the end of the corridor, his alpha’s fixation shifts, becoming aggressive and angry. It launches him into action as he stalks over to him with purpose, his eyes flaring red in warning.

He stands before the alpha and sees the same monster Louis does. He remembers how this sort of ugly broke him, and just like with his father nearly a century ago Harry thinks _funny how small you are._

He knows Louis can’t see it right now but soon he will. He is a bright creature, an immortal masterpiece. Only this is what keeps Harry from simply snapping Grimshaw’s neck. He refuses to rob the omega of such a clarity, of the glorious realization that Grimshaw holds no real control, no real power over him, that the alpha is small and insignificant.

Looking down his nose at the politician with an air of superiority Harry orders, “Greet me.”

Stiffly, struggling against the command in Harry’s voice, the older alpha lowers to one knee and bows his head. “Your grace.”

He only allows Grimshaw to rise again once he’s been bowing for longer than necessary, to remind him of his inferiority. “You may rise.”

Doing so, the alpha maintains his aloof demeanor aside from his tight-fisted hands. It’s futile, Harry has perfected the art of punishment and knows the exact kind of anger boiling beneath his skin, poisoning his pride.

The bloodthirsty entity that is Harry’s vampire thrives on this knowledge, always taking in the evils of others and using it against them. He acts in one movement all before the politician can react. Grasping the hilt of the dagger attached to his thigh Harry uses his forearm to shove Grimshaw into the wall then gets the blade on his throat. Never breaking eye contact Harry leans in so they are nose-to-nose.

His alpha sneers, repelled by the lesser who cowers slightly. “Keep me in mind the next time you test the Covenant, Grimshaw. I am never far away, and I always know what goes on in every one of my Covens. You lay a hand on another omega and I will break then cut through your fingers. You speak improper to another omega and I will cut your tongue out and stitch your lips together. You look at another omega indecently it will be your last day with vision. You will step foot in no royal chamber unless invited. We alphas never harm our omegas. Next time I so much as _suspect_ , I will personally punish and set your corpse to the sun.”

In emphasis Harry applies enough pressure to the male’s undulating throat to draw blood, the male’s fear thickening the scent. “Am I understood, servant?” 

He can feel Grimshaw resisting, and unleashes an entity in him he normally would wish to never be seen. All the evil he has consumed creeps to the forefront of his mind, frenzied for death and destruction. He doesn’t know what it is that looks back at his victims, but it is something that never fails to force terror into them.

Even the Executioner had been disturbed all those ages ago, _“your eyes! Your eyes!”_

Grimshaw’s expression is one of panic as he blanches. “Understood.” It’s obvious he wants to get away, but Harry smiles a small tilt of his mouth. “You’ve not finished, servant.”

“You-You are…understood, my lord.” _Good._

A minute more Harry keeps him pinned to flash his fangs and draw a quick, shallow line across his throat with the blade. It’s a minor graze, but Grimshaw chokes on his breath, cupping his throat.

He remains straight-faced despite his vampire’s satisfaction. A thought strikes him, stifling the madness of the entity–Louis would likely roll his eyes at this, laugh even. Forever giggly and conniving. It charms him how the small assassin’s hellish ways are becoming Harry’s holy grail. Alarms him all the same.

He doesn’t bother to wait on Grimshaw’s recovery. “You have been warned.”

&&

               Louis’ mind is on the run and there is no way for him to catch up with it. He’s swift, unseen on his feet, all but airborne through the manor’s maze of corridors. It’s not just internal either–the entire place is in a turbulent state, anxious for the Clan’s imminent arrival, to know the fate of their future Emperor. 

Occurrences like this are a rarity for the _vymia_ –it’s been centuries since all three elders, the Executioner and his death-dealers, and the Political Powers have convened. Judgement of this kind is only made by the Executioner. Louis being one of the few exceptions to this strict system.

A lethal anger stirs in his belly–his psychotic _blue-blooded_ anger. Louis has always reviled politics for all its corruption and traditional bias. He hopes in all this controversy the _vymia_ will change the way they look at their omegas. For those less fortunate omegas, the ones trapped by societal constrictions and an ingrained inferiority-complex.

On some level Louis gets those omegas, sympathizes with them. Is one of them. _Was_ one of them–he will never put the crown back on.

It’s a comforting thought, an _empowering_ thought that strengthens his resolve.

He reaches the House of Politicians feeling possessed. There is no activity whatsoever, not because these dwellings are prohibited to civilians, but because all politicians have migrated to the main house where the clock rapidly ticks towards Louis’ judgment.

This is his only chance.

_This is your only chance_ an inner voice echoes.

So, he acts mindlessly (when doesn’t he?), hurrying through the halls as if he’s walked them all his life. He knows where he’s meant to be like he knows the sun sets due west despite having never been here before. Which _ok,_ at this point he doesn’t ponder the ambiguities of his life. It doesn’t matter, they’re all blessings somehow. He really is in no position to complain.

He stops just ahead of two great doors buried a distance from the main entrance.

This it is.

Whatever it is behind those doors compels him, drawing him in. A cold draft comes through the door Louis opens, causing goosebumps to rise along his arms. And as soon as he’s stepped inside there is a signification change in pressure, an unpleasant one at that.

It’s freezing, candlelit only enough for the omega make out shadows of grand rows of bookshelves that stretch to meet the high ceiling.

_Creepy_.

Creepy has never discouraged him before. He represses the instinct that tells him to leave with little effort.

Upon further inspection he realizes this place has been lonely a long time. A thin coat of dust has settled over everything, the particles teasing his nose. Seems the keepers aren’t even allowed in here as they’d throw a fit over this surely.

Curiously, the omega leans over a single table surrounded by all the tall walls of books. It’s tidy aside from the mountain of books that have been piling off to the side.

Peering down at them he finds they’re all in Old Language which certainly doesn’t help right now. Just as he thinks so a feeling closes in around him again, a sense of urgency.

Unconsciously the omega weaves between the grand bookshelves, running the tips of his fingers over the dusty spines but never reading their labels.

And then he is back at that bloody table, looking down to find his arms around two thick books in decent condition considering their home.

He sets them down to pull out an uncomfortable leather chair where he sits and begins to frantically flicker through the pages. _One, two, twelve, one hundred–_

A picture catches his attention, spanning over two pages. It appears to be a war scene, perhaps a battle. To anyone else it might seem normal, another article of times past, but to Louis it looks particularly peculiar.

On either side of both pages a stone cliff projects over a valley that is in shades of black. Drawn in the valley of darkness are _ahmari,_ the nasty creatures clawing their way up the center stone face that has been crafted carefully to create a 3D illusion. He doesn’t doubt that it’s been _glamoured_.

On the right displays vampires, the Elders even (if the fangs and crimson eyes of detail are anything to go by), the left a hooded figure Louis can’t make out surrounded by lycans _._

The cliff that hangs over the valley between the right and the left is bare of drawing, clean page sticking sorely out at him. It nags at him immediately. _If it’s glamoured it must be important in some way to someone._

He wants to know what should be in that blank space and why the bloody artist hadn’t finished.

With his brows furrowed the omega saves his page by folding the corner to look back at the title: _Divinity of Fate._

_What a boring title._

Shaking the thought, he turns back two pages from the scene, and scans the writing for any more information.

_Battle of Fates._

Battle of Fates. That’s it.

Unable to make sense of it Louis skims through the rest of the book, finding a section titled in bold: _Realm of Dream,_ and another on the world of magic. In a rush he tears these pages out and tucks the wad in the pocket of his cloak.

In a haste he moves onto the next book, knowing his time here is coming to an end. His breath catches in his throat at the title sewn in maroon thread on the cover: _Executioner Harry Styles. Descendent of Nyx, born of Executioner Desmond Styles._

A hard-hitting sadness crowds his airways when Louis tries to imagine the horrors the book must hold. Struggling to breathe around it he opens the thing to find the last written page to be not at the end, but the middle.

_“…fights not for what is in his heart but for a secret anger…”_

_“…rue the day he–,”_

“You’re incredibly prying.”

All the blood drains from Louis’ face as Harry’s voice cuts through the space between them sharp as the blades he’s armed with. Louis keeps his stare strictly on the book though he’s too dumbfounded to make out any words. He just knows looking at him would be a bad idea. He thinks he knows far too much these days. 

With his heart crashing into his ribcage Louis laughs breathily. “Did you follow me?” It’s in his nature to be pleased by this so of course he is, his omega purring happily. It’s more than that though, it’s _him._ This alpha has a strange way of turning him into a shivering mess. It’s wrong really.

“Didn’t have to. My blood is in your veins. Until your blood metabolizes–,”

“I know the anatomy of it,” Louis mutters petulantly, also knowing the connection of the _bloodbond_ won’t last long. That’s how the vampire species live, their blood in a constant state of phagocytosis.

He could care less about any of that right now. See, science isn’t his thing either. Louis is all about combat, has been since his fledgling days. He remembers his very first assignment from 1974 clear as if it had happened yesterday–he’d ended the life of an aristocrat, an alpha who beat on his omega wife and sexually abused his daughter. 

It was intended to be a discreet, private transaction but it felt personal enough for him to deliver the news of the alpha’s death.

It changed his life, too.

There was no doubt he had found what he’d been looking for in himself when he looked back at that female’s tired eyes and saw stark relief looking back at him.

To get away from the memory he peeks up through his lashes at Harry. It works all too well as it still comes as a shock to him; how attractive Harry really is. His dark clothes look painted to his body, and today he is all legs.

_Ah Goddess._

His body language matches his appearance. Intimidating and commanding. He is transfixed, watching as the alpha shifts away from the door and prowls towards him, his body eating up the distance. With both large hands braced on the table Harry offers quietly, “You can always ask me. You don’t have to play detective too.”

It’s obvious this is Harry’s way of scolding him, and Louis would be endeared but he is too eager to take him up on his offer. He is greedy for more, mostly because he wants to know all there is to know about him, but also because he’d feel so special.

He yearns for his trust more than anything else.

“Do you even fancy fighting?”

Louis’ eyes latch onto Harry’s just as they darken. “I do. Perhaps too much.”

_“…fights not for what is in his heart but for a secret anger…”_

It’s disturbing how Harry’s cynical answer validates that. His mouth goes to open fire on him, to spray questions both irrelevant or relevant but the alpha shakes his head. “There’s no time right now.”

Of course, he’s right, but Louis refuses to be defeated. Blowing out an annoyed breath the small assassin stands and rounds the table.

The alpha faces him just in time for Louis to press close to his wiry body, seeking proximity. There’s no need to stretch (thanks to his boots) so he leans in close with his hand on Harry’s chest and whispers into the curve of his ear, “I’m not goin’ to let this go, y’know. I won’t forget.” He can’t help but linger a few heartbeats, soaking up the sweet proximity.

Before he loses the heart to leave Louis focuses on his mind on his bedroom. As his figure wavers he catches Harry’s faint answer, “Heard, your highness.” 

&&

               With a blank expression Harry directs his warriors through the manor’s foyer. As the stale air assaults his senses the alphas skin crawls. He doesn’t sweep the area with his eyes, keeping them straight ahead, but still he is too aware of their audience.

Attention sets him wildly on edge. It always has. In the Old Days attention was dangerous, and in most cases proved fatal. It’s a phantom feeling Harry’s never been able to shake.

It’s fitting–Harry is not of the forgetful breed. He could not afford to be under the previous Executioners reign. He isn’t the only one who visibly relaxes once they’re reached the halls though. Most of his comrades share his partiality for the shadows, having also suffered the times of his sire.

Since being thrusted into such a position of leadership just barely out of _post_ Harry has tried to keep his bond with his alpha companions near nonexistent. A one-sided mission, his warriors have been relentless in their efforts to get close to him.

Unsuccessfully up until his comeback from captivity.

It’s a cringe-worthy nightmare Harry never wants to relive. Confronted by his warriors’ overreaction, their reverent bowing and teary embraces Harry had tried to dismiss their concern.

It was Selene who bit back with more nerve than most: “We will never be the same without you, my lord. We have been lost without you. You saved us, all of us. You gave to us another chance at life. For you only we will suffer. For you only we will fight. We will have only you as our Executioner as only you are worthy. We have faith in you, and because of you we have faith in our Goddess.”

It hadn’t happened like that for Harry though. He hadn’t been acting as a hero. His heart hadn’t been brave or good. His heart had carried only a coldblooded fury, an unholy need for agony.

He hadn’t expected Des’ warriors, alphas twice his size and age, to bow under his malicious aftermath. He had glimpsed his reflection just moments after tossing Des’ ashes to the wind, and staring back at him was someone he did not know. It hadn’t been a façade, the male he’d seen was nothing but a blood-spattered ghost of the person he’d once been.

It hadn’t mattered at the time, but it does now. He wants to feel again, the way he had when Gemma was alive.

As a unit the death-dealers enter the underground colonnade that is where each Elder rest mummified until their next rising. It’s dreary, and ancient like all else vampire with basic stone fortifications, Old scriptures etched into grit. On the pitched floors that circle the center vaults are pews of stone sectioned in four.

Today the three center vaults are above ground to reveal the Elders, each grey and withered with age. Feeding tubes steadily pump blood into their veins, and soon they will regenerate out of their vampiric death.

As their health returns to them they observe with shrewd washed-out eyes. No one goes by unnoticed. Which means Harry must express his manners and greet the trio of monarchs.

Out of civility he does so. Unlike his cavalry who drop to their knees and bow their heads Harry keeps upright. He nods once to them, meeting each uncanny stare.

“Executioner.” He almost doesn’t realize Johanna is speaking to him. He’d gotten used to answering to his given name, or Haz. An odd ache fires up his chest, freezing his blood.

“Empress,” he replies in a dead voice, then to the two on either side of her, “Emperors.”

“We await your verdict,” comes from Marcus’ still lips.

Between clenched teeth Harry says, “Likewise,” effectively ending the conversation.

He’s no stranger to this cellar, nor is anyone else here. It’s an organized ordeal, everyone settling in their rightful places. Unfortunately enough, Harry won’t remain on the sidelines. Soon he will join Louis, front and center, to give final judgement before the accused.

This is _exactly_ why Harry stays away from royalty. Privilege is the very breeding ground for aggravation. Deep in thought Harry misses the Empress call upon judgement, misses the accusations and the gasps that ensue. He doesn’t take notice to Grimshaw’s scowl, standing across with the Political Powers. He doesn’t acknowledge the Clans, or coven alphas. He is elsewhere up until Viktors solemn words tear through his reverie. “Show to us the accused.”

His alpha is impatient to have the omega in sight, to know he is safe. It feels like an eternity before the most regal of the royals is brought in. Damn it _this_ royal Harry can’t stay away from. He feels powerless to him, a wired whirl of instinct the second he sets eyes on him. 

He isn’t the only one taken by him. Louis is the sort of beauty an alpha can’t turn down. It often works in the omegas favour Harry is sure but that doesn’t change his mindset. His alpha is out for blood, wanting to claw out every pair of violating eyes on _his omega._

His omega who is radiant only in white robes that hang just high enough to reveal dainty ankles and bare feet. His skin is especially golden, and the sapphire of his eyes glitter in the candlelight as they sweep the room.

His gaze clings to Harry’s, holding him ransom. Harry is entirely too taken by him, silently demanding his attention even after Louis looks away.

The small omega is made to kneel before the Elders as the Empress speaks above him dispassionately. “Have thee anything to add?”

With bated breath the Clans await Louis’ appeal. “You shall see I am innocent, your majesty _._ ” His voice is airy, hinting at a giggle. By now this sort of snide does not surprise him. Louis is bold, that is undeniable. Harry must be one of the few who admires this as the pale faces around them are tight with disapproval.

Somehow Harry keeps straight-faced as Louis keeps his head ducked low. All the while those of Clan whisper amongst each other, deliberating their verdicts.

It’s an entirely too dragged out affair, and Harry knows each decision before they’re proclaimed. Grimshaw is first to state on behalf of the Political Powers. “Innocent.”

Moving onto the coven alphas who are represented by an alpha Harry doesn’t know of, and never will because he is going to snap his scrawny neck. “Guilty.”

The noble families follow with “Guilty.”

Last to stand is the Empress, she appears to float towards her son who hasn’t reacted thus far. She regards her only fledgling hollowly, as if he is not of her blood but a passing stranger. He wants to step between them, to guard him with his body. He just barely refrains, grinding his teeth viciously.

Reared to notice, clairvoyant by blood, Harry sees the guilt Louis lacks marring his mother’s eyes. “Guilty.”

Prideful as the omega is Louis says coolly, “I demand _true_ ruling. I demand my Executioner.” He doesn’t miss how Louis places ownership on him, or how it affects his alpha, settling the animal. 

He still has trouble defining feelings, but Harry thinks this is what obsession feels like. There is no control to be had over his body up until he steps in to stand over where Louis kneels.

He looks…different, like this somehow. It’s distracting, how small he is on his knees, keeping his head bowed and his strong, soul-sucking eyes on the floor.

Up close he catches sight of the steel shackles scorching the skin of his thin wrists raw, mostly concealed by the sleeves of his robes. He fists his hands to keep from using them on whoever tightened the shackles to such a painful point.

He will keep his part in this short and simple for the sake of his sanity.

“Look at me.” Goddess, this sight will be vivid as a picture in his mind for the rest of his life. Again, Louis hides nothing, open and inviting. It takes his breath away, the emotions rampant in his eyes.

Crouching, Harry reaches out to cup his jaw, thumbing at the smooth skin. There is an audible gasp from their audience, the Empress even, but the alpha has no time to waste on them.

Louis sighs softly, and that is enough for Harry to never want to leave. “Tell me the truth.” The resonance in Harry’s voice disgusts him as it’s manipulative and heretical.

Mostly, it is unnecessary. There isn’t a trace of attitude or deceit in his voice. “I’m not guilty. I would never bring harm to my people. I would never dishonor my Goddess by fighting for any _ahmari._ I was taken by force and what I saw was real. They are preparing. We should be too.”

Harry is unwilling to distance them but does so grudgingly to meet the eyes of all nearby spectators. To finish the alpha meets Johanna’s stare. “Innocent.”

Her only response is to wave a hand in Louis’ direction, gesturing for the guards to release him. No one dares to question his judgement, but no doubt rumors shall arise by _new-night._

A buzz of chaotic conversation rouses the room as Harry nods to the Emperors, then Ed (his second in command) as a way of farewell.

As his body turns to static Harry hears the Empress speak in a hush, “My fledgling.” To which his alpha scoffs, affronted on his omega’s behalf by the female’s fabrications. Just as soon as it occurs Harry materializes in Louis’ bedroom, the intimate, slightly omega-scented space dimly lit by the moon.

He aimlessly paces around the room in wait, aware that in doing so he’s scenting his space. In these drawn out moments Harry wonders what Louis’ take on the entire tirade is. He wants with a disconcerting hunger to hear his voice again, to listen to him rant, ramble, and rebel. He feels lost, so lost for him. Tied up and twisted for him.

When Louis at last arrives, Harry is all restless energy, crowding him in seconds. “Are you okay?” he asks, studying him attentively.

Harry’s fingers curl into claws as he suppresses the urge to unravel the robe and separate the lapels. Just to be sure he is intact, unharmed. His wrists have healed nicely, but there are tired bruises beneath his droopy eyes.

A trying creature, Louis only smiles softly, then shoulders past him.

“Answer me,” he presses, tracking the omega’s movements with his steadfast stare. He intends to never look away–that is until Louis sheds his robe unpredictably. In a waterfall of white the material flutters to the carpet.

_Goddess,_ he wears nothing, and he wears it so well. All flawless, luminous skin and lewd curves of downy flesh. A frenzy of lust raids his body until his blood is lavalike. He feels seconds from disintegrating to ash, but resists any further lechery. His alpha growls against then, convinced the omega is presenting to him, _beckoning_ him.

“Do I look _not_ okay?”

Not expecting such a scathing tone Harry is bewildered, clearing his throat forcibly. “I…nay, I meant–,”

His jaw works overtime to keep him from continuing with his botched response when Louis reappears, grinning wickedly from ear-to-ear. Smiling at him like this Louis looks more pixie then vampire, a proper minx. “Only teasin’, comrade.”

Stonily, Harry flashes his fangs. “Don’t test my patience, princess.”

“You have patience?” Mirth dances in his bright eyes, and it’s mildly contagious. He smothers the smile starting to turn his lips by pinching the bottom between his fingers. Louis is a most sharp-eyed omega though. “You’ve got a brilliant smile, Haz.”

He hasn’t an idea what to do with the compliment, so he simply stares. He can tell it unsettles the omega, and respects him for never backing down like any other would.

Ultimately the alpha notices he has since changed into his skinsuit, and how the black deliciously hugs his remarkable curves. Bloodlust clouds his mind, and his gums throb fully.

“Were you expecting a thank you or summat?” Louis asks snippily, placing his small fist on his hip.

“No,” his voice is just as sharp. “Not necessary.”

Louis narrows his vivid eyes then gestures to him. “Then why?”

He doesn’t understand the small assassin’s sudden suspicions. He isn’t prone to being dismissed, especially not after proving his loyalty.

With a shrug, Harry says slowly, “You had questions for me.”  

Astonishment softens his mouth into a small _o,_ and it shouldn’t be such an appealing look.

“Is that very surprising?”

Without warning Louis erupts in giggles, and brings his hand up to his mouth as to stifle the sound. “Yes, Haz, it is. You never have much to say.”

_Haz._ His heartbeat picks up in response to the pet name Louis’ gifted him with.

_Get it together, Styles._

“Not true,” Harry mutters moments too late.

He is jabbed in the chest by Louis’ tiny pointer finger. “Oh, it isn’t?” He is staring up at him with amused eyes that crinkle at the corners. He almost shakes his head, but thinks better of it as doing so would only prove Louis right. “Ask me and see.”

Louis arches one artful brow. “Tell me something nobody knows then. Something about _you.”_

“That’s not a question,” Harry hedges.

“See!” He throws up both hands in exasperation then tries to walk away. But Harry can’t let him–he hasn’t had enough time yet. Acting on a disturbing desperation Harry grips his hips on either side to reel him in and just, “Your eyes are my favorite color.”

Louis’ squirming stops then, and his answering silence is deafening. Harry swallows hard to keep from losing his voice, entirely out of his element.

“I realize that isn’t what you were expecting, but I’ve nothing else. I don’t know much else...” _about myself._  He withholds this truth, not ready to see how it’d distort his eyes with worry or pity.

He means to look away even so, but those blue eyes have always been his favorite vice.

It’s as if the tiny vampire reads his mind, batting his eyelashes. They flutter in ways Harry hadn’t thought possible. “You fancy my eyes do ya?”

“That’s all I fancy,” he scoffs, but it lacks any real venom.

“You’re an awful liar.” It ends in a small, sweet yawn. With feline grace Louis moves through his room, disappearing in what Harry thinks is the closet.

Moments later he reappears with a duffle bag that he tosses on the bed and rifles through, removing various weapons. “’M not staying,” is all he finally says.

Its clear Louis has no intention of explaining so Harry decides it doesn’t matter. He isn’t leaving either way.

Without responding the alpha stands in front of the entrance, crossing his arms. “You aren’t leaving.”

At this point Louis is midway through arming himself, and his head snaps up, so he can shoot him a dubious look. “What happened to you do what you want?”

“When I’m not around,” he clarifies indifferently.  

Louis crosses the room swiftly, dagger in hand. Always anticipating his volatile actions Harry grabs his forearm as it’s in midair. Louis bares his white, pretty fangs, straining forward in vain.

“You standing there is hardly going to keep me from leaving, Haz.”

“I don’t want you to go.” He doesn’t, the mere idea is a new painful. One Harry hasn’t felt before meeting this strange creature, one only he can get rid of.

“You can’t always get your way.”

At that Harry frowns, allowing the omega to snatch his arm back. “Make this my only request then.”

Saying so changes something, _him._ “All you had to do was ask.”

He’s slow to react but then Louis is lusciously soft against him, his slim arms around Harry’s waist. Connected to him like this makes Harry want to never let him go, locked around him like iron restraints.

Nose buried in the omega’s feathery hair the alpha breathes his scent deep into his lungs, holding it there, _savoring_ it. A deep sound of approval starts up in his chest, then muffled into his hair, “I used to count the stars as a fledgling. I’d spend hours staring up at the sky. I’d get as far as forty-seven then lose track of which I’d already counted and which I hadn’t. It was very…frustrating.”

It’s trivial and unimportant but it earns him one of those giggles. “I bet, baby. What else?”

His mouth seems to be in Louis’ sole control. “I’m an accomplished body language reader.”

“What is my body saying then?”

His answer is automatic. “That you trust me, and you’re staying.”

A little growl is stifled into his shirt (he’d shed the cloak minutes into pacing), and his entire body crackles when the sharp points of his fangs scrape across his collarbone.

They both know Harry is right, but Louis would never say so out loud. He takes pride in being right, and Harry would be wrong to take that from him.

So, the alpha hums before scooping him up over his shoulder. Laughter spills out of him, and he kicks his legs to be a menace as Harry shoves the shimmery canopy aside and dumps him on the mattress. Sprawled out, the bed swallows his small body. He takes his breath away.

He doesn’t catch it right away either because the omega is upright again, chucking his weapons onto the floor.

Harry’s eyes follow the zipper as Louis drags it down his compact chest, the flat expanse of his belly to his hips. The material peels away from his skin, and he has to look away before he loses to his alpha and gets at him like an animal.

It’s whenever Louis is around that Harry’s control lapses like this, his alpha charged to seize control. Doing so as soon as he catches sight of the midnight blue gown he’s slipped into.

A ragged growl rips up his throat and in one movement he has Louis gasping on his back underneath him. With rough hands Harry hikes up the silk and grips his chunky thighs. He spreads them easily, and brings his hips up to sniff at the creamy insides of his thighs.

His breaths come in quick, quiet successions as Louis wiggles restlessly. “Stay still, sunshine,” he orders into his skin, raging with heat. “I won’t hurt you.” His body is immediately pliant, and for Harry’s taking. He means it though. He won’t ever hurt him.

He only means to worship him, to soothe him. He noses at his smooth skin, leaving his scent there while kneading his thighs. Completely at Louis’ mercy, the alpha only pauses at the sound of his voice, slurred slightly. “’Az, am I forgiven?” There is nothing to forgive anymore, there never was really.

Life is better with Louis, worth living.  

“Yes, princess,” he only whispers, closing his eyes.

When he is sure the small vampire’s fallen asleep, Harry kisses his thigh once then settles spread out on his side next to him. “My sweet _solis.”_ His hand rests splayed out on his hip, comforted by the contact.

Harry doesn’t dare fall asleep that night, instead he lay awake, watching over him just in case the Goddess turns Her back on him too.

Something tells him She won’t, but Louis is an irreplaceable treasure who one day will outshine all Her other stars.

It alarms him enough that he gathers the omegas fragile figure close in his arms, thinking to Her: _you can’t have him._


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Spring, guys!   
> So this one is tame and very world-centered! I hope you all enjoy it;D   
> All my love,   
> Dani xx

A voice, vibrant and distinct, stirs Louis from sleep. He is comfortably warm in his bed, but still shivers, abruptly aware of the heavy hand wedged between his thighs.

_Oh._

Wanting deeply to stay like this, enveloped by Harry Styles, he pretends to be asleep. His omega is extremely sensitive to the alpha, his touch and his sound and his essence.

It’s a lullaby Louis’ heard once or twice but never like this. Never so flawlessly. It sounds laced with magic, like a love song, sedating his coherent thoughts. “Sleep my love and peace attend thee, all through the night…soft the drowsy hours are creeping…I my loved ones’ watch am keeping, all through the night.”

The moment Harry’s voice falls to a whisper Louis squeezes his thighs together in protest.

“Did I wake you?”

“Aye, was all that singing, Mr. I-Don’t-Sing,” he sighs mischievously. Waking up like this, to _him,_ feels natural. He hadn’t noticed before how Harry compliments him. Louis is an omega with a temper and heat, now and then he’s a mess, and he can be crazy. And Harry…Harry is cold. The sort of cold Louis needs to cool down as he is the sort of hot that warms Harry.

“That’s too bad, princess.” Harry is all cool charm even now, at such an early hour (Louis’ biological clock is telling him sunset is still hours away). “The _new-night_ heals, you know.”

Louis is all the way awake by now, and more than ready to take on what the alpha is putting out. “Which is exactly why–,”

“You should be asleep.”

Entirely amused by his tactics Louis stretches out languidly with a noiseless purr, lifting his head enough to stare up at him through fuzzy eyes. Six feet of solid muscle is spread out on his bed, and Harry’s never looked so cozy. He looks different, Louis thinks as he’s poisoned with butterflies. “Hi.”

Magnifying the feeling Harry smiles, dimples and all. “Good waking, sunshine.” A soft flame licks at Louis’ skin under Harry’s predatory gaze, suddenly zeroed in on him.

His response is delayed, voice breathy. “Why didn’t you sleep?”

As the alpha studies him his eyelashes cast shadows on his porcelain cheeks. All the while his fingers rub circles into the supersensitive, delicate skin of the inside of his thigh. A heady scent emanates from his body, something of earthy evergreen and alpha. “I was thinking.”

“About.”

“You. Her. Myself.”

Louis is disgusted by what hearing this does to him. His belly clenches up, and he gets the damn shakes. Quivering like a scared kitten. _No._ He concentrates on shutting down his emotions, wondering uselessly how Harry does it with no trouble at all.

It isn’t so easy for him, but Louis manages. “Havin’ regrets then?”

Harry being Harry follows up with “about?” forcing Louis to put himself out there for him. He doesn’t want to, but he does. He always does. “Dunno, all that with the Clans? About helping me?”

“No.”

“No?” Louis mutters, giving him an unimpressed face. “That’s all?”

His lips twitch towards another smile, and Louis thinks his humor is either always horribly timed or horribly dry. “You aren’t guilty _.”_

“But if I had been?” he stresses softly.

Just like that Harry’s humor vanishes, and he is the same serious male he’s always been. “I still wouldn’t regret it, if that’s what you need to hear, princess.” He shifts in a blur and gets those hands on his eager body. His damn omega body that gives into Harry entirely. He ends up sprawled over his chest, his knees on either side of his hips. His knees that feel too weak for him to resist, to get on them and upright.

And anyway, he is too content here with Harry’s hand locked around the nape of his chest, the other back between his thighs. “You assumed all I wanted was an explanation, but that’s not how this will go. You’ve taken too much from me for just an explanation.”

Louis is short of breath, warring over which he’s more warmed by: the fact that Harry would’ve turned his back on it all for him, or that he wants more from him. “How will this go then?”

“You’re going to tell me the _ahmari_ hoards location. You’re going to stay put while the death-dealers and I put an end to this.” There is nothing of the Harry he’d woken up to and Louis misses him so bad already. 

He laughs, no trace of the pain Harry’s inflicted on him in the chiming sound. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’ll allow any of that.”

“You’re not in charge here, princess.”

A violent storm of rage pounds through him straight to his bones. He can feel that eerie inward mutation with every drag of air, rearing him to fight. He doesn’t acknowledge its presence, his heart hammers and his chest heaves but Louis looks at him steady. “I will never forgive you.”

Matching his nerve, the alpha brings the hand gripping his thigh up to his face, cupping his jaw despite how Louis rejects the touch. He’s going to snap at that hand, tear through the fleshy bit, when Harry sits up, taking him with. This position blessedly offers Louis enough leverage to break away, subduing his vampire’s hostility.

Harry tilts his head thoughtfully, and Louis thinks there is a ghost of a smile lingering on his ruby lips. “Ah yes, my little wanderer. My brave heart.”

Over the alphas mind games, Louis rolls his eyes. Again, he is held fast when he tries to part with him, silently seething when Harry says darkly, “You think I’d do all I’ve done for you only to try and lock you away?”

It shatters him, the defeat in his pale eyes. His anger turns to dust, and his shoulders sag. “C’mon, Haz, that’s not fair and you know it. Tell me what it is you want.” _I need to hear you want me too._

Louis’ skin screams at the flare of electricity that ripples between them when Harry leans in, leaving bare inches between their mouths. Louis’ parts, and he feels glazed by a fiery desire pooling in his belly. His vision goes a little fuzzy, or maybe it’s his mind.

Harry’s pupils are blown so wide they’re mostly onyx, but as the omegas’ forces frantic breaths they change. Crimson colors them, and Louis’ entire body flushes hot. He is throbbing between his legs, his cock hard and pressed up nicely against Harry’s belt between his own silk piece. Worse though is his aching hole, slick coating the sensitive flesh then the rounds of his arse until the silk is sticking to him, revealing the bottoms of each cheek. “You feel,” his words are ragged, more so then he’s ever heard. It’s like _this between_ them is more exerting than the trysts of battle. Louis relates honestly. “Perfect.”

_Perfect._

Unbidden tears spring to Louis’ eyes, Harry’s words digging up insecurities he rarely owns up to. It’s just that Louis knows better. He knows exactly what he is. An abomination, a glitch in the vampiric genepool.

And yet here is Harry calling him perfect. He hadn’t realized before: _nobody has ever called me perfect._  

Somehow Louis stems the blood tears until his eyes are glossy. When safe to he opens his mouth to say something cutting but doesn’t because Harry noses at his racing pulse point. His heart flutters, and Louis is helpless to him, letting his head fall until he is ear-to-shoulder. “You’re a _ruthral,_ a gift.”

His laugh is strange-sounding even to his own ears. “More like a curse. ‘M probably hexed.”

Louis feels the vibrations of the alpha’s growl in tingles that have him latching onto his broad shoulders for support. He doesn’t see Harry as entirely ruthless, but the male isn’t exactly soft and sweet, so this is so new to him, being praised like this by him. His omega preens under the alphas attention. “Let me be clear, sunshine. I am always true to my word. I was serious when I said I wouldn’t hurt you. I never will.” As the alpha says so the rough pads of his hands belt around Louis’ neck, fingers flexing softly. In lame retaliation to Harry’s incessant manhandling the omega scores his shoulders with his nails. He hopes to leave red streaks in his wake, but it’s useless as Harry is still covered in his clothes from earlier. Louis decides then to steal that shirt soon, knowing his scent will be caught in the material, and it’ll quell his loneliness some in the weeks to follow.

At a loss he searches his handsome face for something to go on and realizes maybe it isn’t that Harry looks any different. Maybe it’s that Harry is looking at him different.

His tongue trips on gasping giggles until he explodes in an emotional crash-lashing, “Haz, you need to be a little more spe–,”

A short tune intrudes on the moment, obviously Harry’s phone. It’s a bitter blow, how the alpha curbs him to answer. He doesn’t visibly react to Harry’s retreat, but he is utterly humiliated by the rejection. His jaw is set, and his hands are tight fits, but beneath this reserved demeanor Louis feels small and exposed, wanting to curl in on himself.

He is fiddling with his fingers when a thought strikes him. _This isn’t me._

It isn’t. Louis doesn’t hide or cower. He fights. When the time is right he will fight for more than Harry’s life. He will fight for his heart. He will earn it proper because Goddess knows Louis will love him til his own breathing stops.

In his heart he knows for now he will be fine, though. It’s better like this. This just isn’t the time for them to try and be in love. There is more at stake than what they have right now. Which isn’t much at all.

Such is his life.

With a newfound confidence Louis stands to confront him, starting to giggle when Harry’s eyes meet his. There is a tenacity, an obsession in their depths that quiets him immediately.

His omega wants the alpha bad as ever is the thing. It dazes him every time, this first-love feeling. It’s entirely blissful, entirely breakable. He thinks Harry feels it, too. There’s nothing to really prove it, but Louis is ever the optimist.

“’Til next time?”

A dangerously fang-full smile slowly softens his mouth, casting away any residual fear. “I will be back by sunset, princess.”

He almost tells Harry he’ll be long gone by then, but decides against it, not knowing what sort of alpha reaction this will rouse in him. No doubt the alpha will make him want to stay, and Louis can’t stay.

Nervously, the omega licks his lips and curls his toes into the plush carpet. Goosebumps rise on his bare arms, and Louis shivers, thinking he is very under dressed. He is all too aware of the alpha’s gaze tracking his movements as he snatches his discarded skinsuit from the foot of the bed.

With his heart fluttering wildly, Louis turns his back on Harry to shrug out of the gown with a candid grace. He isn’t sure how he must look to Harry, but his omega basks in the short-lived time that the alpha’s eyes are only on him.

He is languid limbs, acting unfazed. His fingers are going for the zipper when Harry’s nimble, long one’s bat them away. Giving into him mindlessly Louis lets his arms fall to his sides and watches a curl fall from his mop of hair, hanging over one of his eyes.

On impulse he reaches up to brush it away but twirls it around his index finger instead. Harry tugs the zip that lays between his collarbones. “’S unfair for you to dress like this. Distracting.”

As the omega laughs breathily, his lashes flutter. “You’re just a sucker for spandex and leather.”

His hand is big and heavy and in all ways dominant splayed out on his belly. Louis shakes his head a little to clear it of the _Harry-Haze._ Goddess, his voice doesn’t help, all slow and hushed, and the way his throat moves, the cords in a seductive rhythm–, “And you? What are you a…sucker for?”

“Um,” he flounders, tugging the curl vengefully.  “Gangsters. Heathens. The likes.” _You._

“Heard, sunshine.”

Squeezing his hip hard the alpha drags him forward. Pressed against his body, at his mercy, amid his alpha endorphin charge Louis feels Harry’s mouth latch onto his neck. Pleasure, intense and burning, washes through him. A tiny whimper of want is hot on his lips, fire flowers bursting behind his eyes. To keep from dropping for him Louis fists the material of his shirt desperately, his thighs trembling. His mouth is parted around Louis’ throbbing pulse point, drawing a love-bite into his sensitive skin. His fangs insistently press down, but never draw blood, driving his omega mad with need. 

He can still feel Harry resisting him, resisting the bloodlust. His muscles are bunched, his body rigid lines of tension. But _his tongue._ Goddess his tongue does something obscene, something filthy that leaves his lovely bonding scent all over one of the most sacred parts of Louis’ body.

Feeling floaty, _space-bound,_ Louis wants to beg him to _please, please never go away,_ but can’t seem to remember how to form words. Unlike most he’s never experienced omega-space. Which he’d prided himself for, but Goddess he will always ache for this connection, for even a contact-high.

There will always be thoughts of this, of _him,_ in his head. With one last, lingering kiss to his sore bite Harry straightens, voice piercing his sensitive ears, “If nothing else, princess, you have two options. You can run. You can hide. But I will always find you. I will be with you forever. Nobody else will ever do…” _Nobody else will ever do…_ “Or you can keep this simple. You can stay. We can fight together. You’re a big boy, sunshine, it’s your world so I will allow you to do as you see fit. Either way we are tethered together for now, and I want everyone to know it.”

Louis’ knees buckle, and his head spirals out of control, calling his secret power out of him. It isn’t Harry keeping him upright this time but his blue-blooded force.

With a deep sound of approval Harry noses at his raw red mark, and Louis is in ecstasy, too lost in all the stimulation. His senses are searing, his nerves strung by a fatal pleasure. His next kiss is just a gentle as the last, and Louis shamelessly stretches in search of more. “You’re lovely like this, _dhraga._ All soft and sweet and senseless for me.” His voice is pure, concentrated alpha that tugs low in his belly, the telltale orgasm tugging that turns his mind to mush and his body to pleasure.

_Darling._

_Senseless?_

Louis almost comments on his genius alliteration, but wants to stay like this, in Harry’s capable control, awhile longer. “You’re such a control freak,” he pants between parted lips instead, pawing at him relentlessly. His hands get at Harry’s shoulders, his neck, his hair, and are going for his face when Harry growls. It’s utterly playful and protective and everything Louis has ever wanted. _This, them like this,_ it’s whole and natural and makes him forget all his worries long enough for him to really feel young and electrically in love.

“Coming from a _royal_ ,” the word royal is cheeky, and they are the worst, most lethal pair. Louis has always wanted something just like this though. Who doesn’t? Anyone who saw Harry like this would be as in love with him as Louis is. 

Delirious in his happiness Louis lurches up on his tiptoes to capture Harry’s lips. His mouth is hot and hungry, but the kiss is like honey, slow and sweet and sticky with blood (it’s Harry’s, unforgettable by the richness and potency even in a mere drop).

In awe of it all Louis admires him when he tears away, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He isn’t hurt by his backlash because his vision has enlivened, high-rising with the thirds revival.

Without it he probably still wouldn’t be hurt. He sees how Harry’s hands shake, and his brows are scrunched above his reflective eyes that are cautious, but curious.

He doesn’t seem to care that he’s illuminated by Louis’ blue, but beyond that Louis feels Harry’s affection. It’s warm, and heartsome. He isn’t blind to the rest, though. The majority. A vision so dark Louis can’t stare, too uneasy over it. Enclosing his emotional grid is the same shadow from first sight. It’s ominous and insidious and sends chills through his body, his temperature cooling drastically.

His vampire and omega are both repulsed by it. He stays suspended for ten heartbeats, trying to make Harry out through the glitches of darkness, but can’t.

Wanting to freeze time before it turns cold Louis just stands there with a never-ending love in his heart.

Still it’s awkward, neither sure what to do after such an intense power-trip, but in the end its Harry that leaves wordlessly.

Louis guesses that means til next time, and collapses on the bed, feeling boneless. Harry’s scent doesn’t help, but it’s impossible to get away from, all over his room and his body. There’s nowhere he’d rather be, but he hasn’t forgotten fate. He’ll be up in the next ten minutes, but he allows himself this time to indulge in it all.

Revitalized only an hour later Louis smiles wickedly into the sunlight, running free.

&&

               Louis enters lycan territory on foot. Liam’s pack comes from riches and is by far the most impressive of the four native to their island. He doesn’t run into any soldiers, but he can hear them out there, trotting near soundlessly around the outer perimeter. He steps between the tall forest trees onto an old, worn trail he’s walked many times before as it leads up to the great barrier of stone.

Entrance now in view he finds it to be something out of fairytales, massive and castle-like. All tall towers between borders guarded by the pack betas and alphas. He isn’t worried about being shot down. They’re expecting him.

More than that though, they know him.

As he nears Louis recognizes Jonah who waves animatedly, Michael and Wolfgang, Olivia and Celeste.

Always a close-knit bunch, most of the wolves had been uncomfortable around him at first. Years since then Louis now considers them all to be his family, and the feeling is mutual. To them Louis’ background, his blood does not matter. He is treated no differently, no less and no greater, made to fit the pack dynamics. If the idea of settling down didn’t put him off so badly, he’d be tempted to make this place his permanent home.

As the mouth of the wall is drawn open by mechanical chains Louis greets them, “Any action today, mates?”

From above the wolves give out colorful arrays of laughter.

“You’re the most action we’ve seen all day!” O barks out.

“Aye! It’s been quiet, too quiet,” Michael muses, and Louis can’t help but giggle, knowing the lycan’s tendency to get antsy.

“Take it easy, Mikey!”

_Watch him_ he mouths to the others jokingly, heading towards the alphas domain. In a proper positive state of mind Louis is all but skipping through the den where lycan’s go about their daily routine (and Goddess there are more than an outsider would assume).

Zayn, being mated to the pack alpha, takes on the brunt of communal tasks. Louis learnt with him, how vampire’s and lycan’s live worlds apart. Zayn fit the role flawlessly though and is reverend by all here.

Louis still puffs a little with pride over the whole thing.

“Lou!” Perrie, a dear friend of Zayn’s, cries. She is a beautiful blonde who Louis often calls Zayn’s girl-crush. With little care the female pulls him in an embrace more bearlike than anything else and Louis can never disagree when Perrie says her hugs are the best. They are. “Got a thing for the sunshine these days, eh?” 

“I look better with a tan.” Louis smiles sweetly.

“You said it,” she singsongs, pulling away to wink at him, “not me.”

As the two catch up, they’re joined by others as they pass through the ways. He is bulldozed by questions and given earfuls of information. As of today, a new treaty formed between Liam and the West territory. Darcy had given birth to a healthy litter after two days labor. Luna’s first shift had occurred early this morning.

All at once he is slapped by a sad revelation. Liam’s father, who recently passed down his power as pack alpha, has fallen sick. The wolves are beside themselves with anxiety, and Louis feels the same sensation stiffening his spine. Geoff is a legend for his compassion as pack alpha, for his protection and his battle cry.

In old age the lycan had retired to mourn the loss of Karen, the previous pack _alphena,_ slaughtered by an _ahmari_ in the woods some ten years ago. Frantic to see him, to know he is okay _,_ Louis is flooded with relief the moment Zayn comes into view at the focus of the great manors rotunda overhead.

Louis’ mind is reeling, and he surpasses all the lycan’s in speed, up the stairs and at his side at once. All his life Louis has protected him, and he’ll be damned if that changes.

Catching up too soon, the lycan’s exchange excited words with their _alphena._

Zayn listens patiently, but Louis isn’t really listening at all until the lot bid him farewell grudgingly.

Perrie kisses his cheeks, then Zayn’s, and is the last of his admirers. She gives him an odd look as she goes, her arresting eyes almost ordering him to _do something._  

“Never a dull moment.” There is something sharply off putting in his best mate’s voice. Louis really looks at him for the first time, and cringes at sight. Zayn’s skin looks waxy, drawn scarily tight over his sharp features. His mouth is turned down in a deep frown, his eyes weary.

Disturbed, the smaller of the two thrusts himself forward, at him. With only inches separating them Louis reaches out to cup Zayn’s face in one icy hand. Zayn is reassuringly warm, welcoming the touch. It’s comforting for them both. “What’s wrong?”

There’s no point in excuses or repudiations, and none are delivered (both know each other way too well to pretend). “This just feels like the land of the snakes sometimes. Aside from regular _ahmari_ and rouge threats, Geoff’s fallen sick, the physicians haven’t got an idea what it could be, and Liam is…He’s not…He’s a mess the last few days.” He closes his eyes and forces the finish, “You’re going to off yourself to a hoard. My parents, the _vymia,_ the pack. It’s coming at me on all sides. And I know, I know no one is to blame. It’s just the way life goes. I wish it wasn’t though.”

It’s in his voice, a strident pain that strangles his heart. “Z, babe, we’ve been down before. It’ll be alright, _arshla. We_ are going to be alright. She won’t let you down. Nor me or Liam or anyone else.”

“Some things must be out of Her control.”

Focused only on him, the omega shows all the truth in his heart, hoping he will see it in his eyes. “It doesn’t mean you can lose faith. Never lose faith. In the end Nyx will be with you always, on _your side, rooting for you._ You are too strong for _this_.” Stroking his prominent cheekbone Louis smiles, the exact slight tilt of Zayn’s lips _._ “Just a little faith, it’ll all get better _._ ”

In his inexplicable eyes there is a liberation that eases the raw throbbing in Louis’ lungs. “You give me such strength, such hope. What do you imagine I’ll do without you?”

“You’ll never be without me. I intend to haunt the hell out of you. I think I’ll prank Liam first, though. Probably whack ‘im with a stick or summat.”

“That isn’t a prank, Lou. That’s abuse.” His face is soft and sleepy, and Louis acts fast, tossing an arm around his frail shoulders and ushering him around to face the massive doors of his shared bedroom. It’s an impressive room in sheer size, meant for not only the alpha and alphena, but the rest of the pack as well _._ Throughout the day wolves are welcome to the two king beds, pushed together to accommodate so many bodies at once. “Tomato, _tomahto,_ ” Louis teases harmlessly.

Seeming to realize Louis’ intention the other omega starts to resist, but he shoves him onto the mattress. With an _“oof”_ he lands on his back, glaring at him.

Muffling his protests Louis says loudly, “Stop, arguing with me right now is useless. You aren’t any good to anyone like this. You are going to sleep, have a cuddle, I don’t care. Just don’t leave this bed. I’ll let Liam know, and take care of the pack today.”

Sitting up now Zayn regards him through those long, long, long eyelashes and huffs. _Huffs._ “None of this is necessary. I’m made to endure sleepless nights. A few days won’t kill me. You have other–,”

Louis is all fangs, his natural weapons surging from his gums as he bites out, “Don’t. Don’t you say that…You-You matter to me more than anything, Z. You do so much for me, let me do this for you. One day hardly matters in the crazy scheme of all this. When it’s meant to happen, it will. It won’t be today, though. Today I am here for you only.”

It’s minutes into their staring contest that he breaks. Dragging an unsteady hand through his thick dark hair Zayn nods. “Okay…I…thank you, _arshla._ ”

For once Louis keeps quiet, watching Zayn get out of his boots, then undress down to his pants. Once he’s settled underneath the duvet, looking tiny and tired, Louis relaxes, sending a quick thanks to the Goddess.

“You look proper cute,” he laughs softly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He doesn’t know that Zayn believes him but doesn’t give his best mate the chance to change his mind. Louis flees the scene and pursues the other vampire’s mate _._

He finds the alpha in his office hunched over some sort of paperwork. It’s all about the fine print, Louis supposes when Liam doesn’t look up. He wouldn’t if not for Louis’ adamant tapping on the desk.

Glancing up at him in surprise Liam mutters uninterestedly, “Oh. Lou.” Which how _Harry_ of him, honestly. With a double-take the lycan realizes Louis is alone. It’s rare for Louis to be without Zayn here, the two inseparable when reunited. It gets his attention. “Where’s Z?”

“He was tired, so I told him to take the day off,” Louis says nonchalantly. “ _New-night_ ’s set in by now I’m sure.” He really didn’t think it’d work, and it doesn’t. Liam overreacts.

On his feet in seconds the alpha jostles his desk as he’s hurrying around the wood, so contents topple off. By now the carpet is covered with paper, glass, pens and maybe the alpha’s sanity. “Is he okay? Should I call a doctor? He didn’t tell me he was tired.”

He’s already out of the room so Louis rushes after him. “Liam, Li, he’s _fine._ He just needs a break, and sleep. And duh, of course he didn’t say so, he doesn’t want to worry you.”

Louis almost wants to ask _why didn’t you notice_ but decides that would be unreasonably cruel considering all that’s been going on. He bites his tongue just as Liam stops dead. Louis backtracks in time to watch the blood drain from his face, something nauseating coming onto his features. Liam might be a mind-reader. He might just be seeing straight. Louis doesn’t know, but it’s all downhill from there.

_“Goddess, I didn’t notice. I…I didn’t notice how hard all this must be on him. Too caught up in myself, and Goddess, I’m so selfish. He must be so strung out. Is it bad, Lou? How bad is it?”_

It’s a mess to put it lightly. The entire day.

Liam’s pity-party signals a distress call to others. It’s a lot more difficult to diffuse the situation once the pack is in the mix.

In the blessed end its exhaustion that does Zayn’s mate in merely an hour later. Louis is hasty to herd them all into the grand room, slightly awe-struck by how silent these creatures can be when their _alphena_ is asleep.

Liam seems to be in desperate need of rest too, so it works out in everyone’s favor.

As the atmosphere levels down Louis busies himself with the more pleasant pack tasks first. He visits the pups den, greeted by thirty pups. Five of which Louis hasn’t gotten to bond with, but already loves deeply. Compared to the older pups Darcy’s are so tiny, barely even beings with eyes screwed shut. They’re a rowdy litter though, both vocal and active. In true form their mother idles around them, a petite lycan omega with grey coarse fur aglow. “Darcy, they’re lovely,” Louis praises softly as the older pups seek out his attention.

She regards him through shining silver eyes, baying out a happy noise that all the pups fuss over, easily excited and still so playful. Settling crisscross nearby Louis is immediately pounced, giggling at his welcome kisses and play.

Rowan (Louis knows because of the snowy white of his soft, fine fur) who will be two in March whines impatiently, stretching up to lap at his face. Louis giggles, hugging his tiny, wiggling body close to keep his face out of reach. “I missed you more Rowboat.”

Emma, now five, yaps crossly, gnawing at his cloaks so that Louis coos, “You too, Em. And you Kai. And Suly! And…” so on.

Slave to them the omega allows himself the luxury of little ones. He is deeply attached to these pups, loves each one as if they’re of his own blood. In the time he’s spent with them they’ve filled a void in his heart. A crippling emptiness Louis always feels at the thought of fledglings or pups or anything offspring related.

He could never shake this unyielding yearning for pregnancy. His first heat a delirious fever frenzy for knots and fledglings.

Now though he can’t even entertain the idea of his own fledglings. Not even a one day _._ There will be none.

So, like always Louis leaves, albeit wearing a smile he doesn’t feel. He slowly recovers from the realization once Luna is showing off her new shifting ability. She gushes over participating in the packs next run and Louis (inwardly wincing) has no choice but to promise to be there. He really hopes to make it.

Eventually he has to face the serious side of pack life. It’s dull and dreary, but Louis never thinks twice.

Well, aside from when he can no longer avoid Geoff. Luckily the bedridden alpha is sound asleep and misses the dread that eats him alive in the first few heartbeats that ensue. Awhile Louis sits with him, talks to him (over the sound of machinery he’s hooked up to) until he can see the sun setting on the horizon, feel it tugging him towards his own _new-night._ He prays to Nyx, then Hemera (as the lycan’s are of Her faith as well), and with a sweeping touch departs from the alpha’s room.

By this time Louis feels much heavier, secular and space-bound. Most of the pack is winding down, their day at its end. It’s a much-needed respite after all the days exertion. Louis’ just relieved the day soldiers, replacing them with the ‘night’ shift consisting of ten alphas and five betas.

Alone with his thoughts the omega wanders aimlessly, running into the pit from his last night with the pack already afire on the very fringes of territory. It’s low, simmering as Louis stretches himself out on the cool, damp earth ten feet away. 

He hums low in his throat, scrubbing at his eyes so color explodes behind the darkness under the wonderful pressure. Once down he’s unable to muster the will to retrieve the rumpled pages of the book from his bag (left in the guest room of alpha domain) or start on some self-discovery binge, he simply stares up at the dreamy night sky, hoping it’ll feel more like home once he’s up there.

He’s never had, nor wanted a home, but thinks one in the sky might do.

(It won’t ever though. Louis’ a born runner, and Harry was right, he’ll never change.) 

&&

                    Mind in a drifting state Harry steps into the covert saferoom intended to keep militia concerns confidential. Its four walls are bare of decoration, but the room is true to vampire taste. Gothic with intricate sculptures and glass and ribbed vaults.

Its apparent his warriors have been expecting him awhile, their barely-bound estrangement polluting the rooms air.

It’s soundless until the moment he finds his place against the furthest wall from the door. His stiff stance proves initiation enough for his hotheaded militia as they can’t seem to wait on his signal.

Acting as a pacesetter the alpha is unfazed by the massive uproar that is a grouping of flashy, full fangs, crimson narrowed-slits for eyes and forceful speeches demanding to be heard. Crammed in here like this his warriors always seem especially aggressive, but nonetheless Harry listens. His mind is fixed and final, though.

It’s three punishing hours into ‘negotiation’ that Harry decides it’s time to discontinue, doing so by holding out one hand.

At once his previously unrestrained warriors disengage, awaiting his resolution.

Despite all the rough breathing of exertion the silence is loud as a scream. Throughout Harry pointedly meets every set of familiar eyes, emphasizing his impending speech. He almost chokes up, stunted by an emotion beyond his understanding. It’s a ghost of the feeling he used to get after Gemma’s death, when he could no longer avoid thoughts of it.

Shoving the thought in his mental-coffin Harry starts steadily. “Your concerns are well-placed. I have heard you. I understand the consequences and the risks of this advance. We are far too outnumbered. I cannot deny this, but I still must leave you with a choice. Mine is to fight. I expect naught of you. You may stay behind, you may follow. May peace attend thee, my most worthy warriors.” _It’s been an honor to serve as your leader._

“What is it that connects you so closely to this?” Ed is the first to speak up quite boldly.

“That’s a proper question, Ed,” Ashton says icily. “I am still rather interested in hearing where you disappeared to for so many months.” Well, one-upper Ashton means only strict business.

Understandable.

Understanding is not within his alpha’s limits though. An ever-bloodthirsty force geared towards disorder and carnage. His vision shifts without his notice up until Liz steps into the center of their body circle. “We ask with only loyalty in our hearts, Executioner.” Again, his title sounds strange. “Keep this is mind we ask of you.”

“Aye.”   
“Aye.”

One by one each alpha voice their agreement. All the while Harry wonders where his voice went, then looks down at the signet ring he wears only away from battle and remembers. In his fledgling days he’d had a lot say, but that was before the Executioner had sewed his mouth shut.

He must’ve lost it sometime then.

A violent urgency raids through his veins, heating his bloodstream. At the slightest taste of freedom his tongue almost runs mad. Still he only tells what is necessary, and in the end even that is too much.

Aside from militia concerns it’s the most Harry has ever dared to divulge to anyone. Louis being the only exception to this rule. One he likely will not break again.

“ _Royal_ Louis?”

“No shit.”

“But he’s so…”

Harry spares Simon his alphas lethal intentions, relating to the confusions. Harry is very singular the same, only fully functional during battle.

“He’s a royal, lot of sneaky snitches,” Selene scoffs, and knowing the alphas background (her family’s social fall resulting in the death of her father) Harry also excuses this comment.

“I judged him. He was telling the truth. A royal is willing to fight for this, to risk his life for this. Then I, as Executioner, will not stand behind.”

There is no further discussion, not a pause or a heartbeat between Harry’s words and their actions. In a fluid wave of movement his militia kneel, bowing their heads with their hands over their hearts. “We will not stand behind,” someone says, though he can’t say who, his mind not yet catching up to his senses. “We will fight behind our Executioner.”

“Aye.”   
“Aye.”

Again, agreement.

Daggers are drawn, presented to him in an old offering of respect, of loyalty within the Death-Dealers.

“Aye. You are most worthy, warriors,” he says solemnly, suddenly devoid of any emotion. Louis must be asleep, his emotions no longer feeding through the _bloodbond._ Sunset is upon them, and his alpha has been away from the omega far too long.

“I cannot promise there will not be loss or bloodshed. You are still under no obligation. We will approach this cautiously. I want a thorough, unnoticed scope of the _ahmari_ area before we fashion any strategy of action. Ed, Jax, Selene you have twenty-two hours to map the hoards location. Observe, figure out our best entrance and exit. I want an estimated size and population. I will provide you with a general area as soon as I can, and you will go from there. Simon, Ash, Liz and Collin are still on territory hunt today. Jophan and Stephan will monitor the Covens. Lannie you’re on weaponry. I want our best, and our most effective. Dylan and Derek, you do not let Aiden Grimshaw out of your sights.”

“The politician?” Derek mutters with disgust, as if the word is foul tasting. (Harry knows that taste all too well.)

“I do not trust him. He is a part of all this, I need to know how.” Tacking on darkly when met with reluctance, “He has violated the covenant, wrongful to the omegas.”

“Nasty fucker.”

“Politicians are the creeps of the species we all know this.”

“Does not excuse such a violation. We should set him to the sun. Watch ‘im fry.”

“Not a fitting enough punishment,” Harry denies pointedly to Dylan who is hormone-driven, hours out of his rut. “You two will not harm him at any point. You will observe and never intervene or interact. I require answers. Grimshaw is Louis’ to deal with.”

“Since when do we involve royalty?”

“He isn’t royalty.” _He is one of us._

“Aye, his blood is impure,” Liz says softly, recoiling when Harry bares his fangs defensively. “M-Meant in no way to offend, Executioner.”

His alpha is twitchy, poisoning his right mind in a way that makes his ruts seem easy. It’s dominating, and Harry practices control in all things, especially himself and all his _others._ “That is moot. He will not let this go. If not included, he will pursue alone.”

“Got a death-wish then? Too entitled?” Too entitled _yes._

It’s infuriating, all this prying. “Enough. Louis is not your concern.”

“And he is yours?” Ed is all dry humor. Harry doesn’t appreciate being laughed at, and he can tell Ed is doing just that.

“He is. The royal is mine. I will stop at nothing to protect him, and I would do anything for him. Any objections?”

No? _I thought not._

He nods, mind already making its way back to him. His location specifically. “See you all back here in exactly twenty-two hours.” His body wavers, melding into time, shoving him back to earth seconds into the freefall. As his feet plant themselves on the slightly damp grass the earthy scent of the night shoots up his nose. Saturating the open-air is a scent his alphas world revolves around. It’s compromising, his sudden attachment to the omega.

“Don’t you have better things to do then stalk me?” Scarily attuned to him Harry spots the omega as he speaks, sprawled out lazily on the grass some ways from a low, weak campfire. His voice is soft and sweet, mirroring his image. He wants to hear it muffled into his skin.

“Always so welcoming,” he says so in a lame attempt at sarcasm, never looking away from him. He is something to behold, this royal.

“How should I welcome you, alpha,” the omega purrs, coyly rolling over to spread out on his front, using his right hand as a prop for his face. He’s dressed for battle, body all delicate, slim curves that look like the perfect place under a tight black skinsuit. A radiant distinct blue illuminates his face.

He’s looking at him with those damn big blue eyes, and that is enough for his cock to fatten in his trousers against all his noble intentions.

 Itching to touch him again, to be touched by him, even just a second brush of skin, Harry hears his own voice, “With a kiss, princess.” It doesn’t sound like him, his voice gritty and warm. His alpha is to blame, the animal salivating, panting all over himself for the chance of scenting him and feeling him and this is not where this was meant to go. This is not how this was supposed to happen.

It’s happening, though.

“A kiss?” Louis whispers breathily, his eyes flaring. Under that spell again Harry’s muscles flex and relax repeatedly but he never moves. As the omega’s lush body lines up with his own the alpha thinks he could easily lose his mind with the way Louis kisses.

His lips generous and bold, eagerly clinging to his own. Harry’s heart is an automatic weapon, bringing back the flames until he is burning up again. Louis’ nightshade today, his mouth tasting of death cherries, sugary and disorientating and delirium-inducing.

He wants to keep burning.

“How’s that for welcoming,” his giggle stings on Harry’s lips, and his own answering smile is both unnecessary and impossible to stop. Breaking free of the contact despite his alpha’s refusal, he smothers a sound of approval at the sight of him. His voice gives away very little, but his face tells it all. His fringe a feathery, wayward mess, high cheekbones flushed, mouth puffy and wet. He’s a little doe-eyed, and Harry’s entire body is charged to take him.

“You look filthy, princess.” _So inviting._

“You’ve seen nothing yet, Styles.” His fangs protrude enough to reveal the sharp points.

_Goddess_.

Bulging in his trousers his cock jerks, pounding for an out against his zipper. On impulse, he brings his hand up (it’d been gripping Louis’ hipbone rather hard) so his fingers gently round his neck. His skin is silky, and smooth and warm with a vitality his vampire desires. “You got a thing for choking omegas out, H?”

“I’ve never been with an omega,” he mumbles absentmindedly, admiring his throat, thinking to bury his face there next. Then between the rounds of his arse. Like this it’s too tempting to imagine exactly how he’d look presenting himself to his alpha, how his slick would taste, and–

“Excuse me, what?”

“What.”

“Did I hear that right?”

“Yes, I’m sure. What did you hear?”

“You…You’re…You’ve never…” his voice is small, and Harry’s brows furrow. “How is that possible?”

“I could ask you the same.” Crossing his arms, the alpha backs away a fraction to gauge his feelings better. It’s not much better.

Arching an artful brow Louis shakes his head a little, then mumbles _unbelievable_ under his breath. “What kind of saint are you? You really _are_ holier-than-thou.”

“Princess, you said so yourself, you and I are the same,” he says icily, a tinge of crimson turning the boy’s blue to magenta. It’s equally as lovely on him.

“We’re distinguished beings, baby.” Louis grins this small quirk of his mouth that neutralizes any pressure between them, and Harry just barely keeps from smiling back. “Why not though?”

He knows what Louis’ asking but still deadpans, hoping the small assassin will let it go, perhaps replace it with a lighter, less personal conversation. Of course, he doesn’t. “I mean it’s natural contrary to _vymia_ belief. There’s nothing wrong with like…”

It’s endearing, watching him, a creature so quick and witty, struggle to talk about something so ‘natural’. Louis purses his lips and regards him through narrow eyes, sensing his amusement.

“Sunshine, the _vymia_ isn’t a part of my world.” _Not much is_. “I’ve never felt close to anyone. I’ve never wanted to.” Until now. Until you.

His next thought is both unwelcome and cold: _thinking like a true bonded male._ It’s true, and he hasn’t been able to stop.

“Me either,” the omega blows out an annoyed breath that does not sit well with his alpha. Without warning Louis favors him with another small smile, a secret smile just for him.

Mine.

He’s met his match with Louis of the Clans. “You’re too good for all of them, sunshine.”

In rare instances like this Louis wears this look that gets right under Harry’s skin. A vulnerable, innocent yet wild look that drives him a little mad. His heartbeat is a loud drum behind his ears as the omega flattens his gloved hand over his chest. “You were wrong,” his voice cuts through the thump sharply. “You aren’t the only one who knows you. I know you, Haz, and I will never run from you. I can’t stay, but if I could, if there were _any other way,_ if things were different…I would. I’d stay every time.”

There is a purpose Harry has seen on the faces of many before battle, the indestructible kind. This omega means business.

_I’d stay every time._ A searing sensation rips through him, leaving him feverish and hazy. He thinks he must have that look on his face that Louis worn moments ago even though his eyes have closed throughout. Opening them, Harry finds their fingers laced, and squeezes his dainty hand to let him know this is okay.

_Please don’t ever go away._

“There’s no hurry, princess.” It feels like he’s lying though, the words wrong on his tongue. He wants to be heard though. _Please don’t ever go away._ “I am with you in this whether you wish it or not. Admit defeat.”

True to his unfaltering ability to find humor where there is none to be found Louis tosses his head back with a laugh so natural and carefree. Harry knows without doubt that he loves that sound. “It’s hardly defeat, Haz. I’ll give on the condition that nothing goes without my knowledge or agreement no matter what. Promise me.”

On one knee Harry speaks into the skin of his palm. “So long as I breathe I vow nothing between us will be unknown to you.” Sealing the promise with his kiss the alpha holds his posture until the omega says otherwise.

In the time between bombs go off in his chest, and somewhere in the sky Harry realizes the darkness has swallowed yet another dying star. It’s known to be a rebirth amongst the species, but honestly, it’s a true shame. To be banished, casted away, back onto this world is heartless grant on Nyx’s part.

As Her other, uglier half Erebos, the two can never exist apart, and such is life. Built around tragedy and war. 

Before the small assassin’s reply ever surfaces resounding howls erupt, shaking him from his stupor.

Wired, on high alert, the alpha surges upright, forcing Louis behind his body as eighteen-wheeler sized beasts emerge from all sides of the forests and town (?) around them. In a hasty assessment their site becomes clear: a den.

An ominous growl, one with the piercing tenor of only an alpha, challenges his vampire. In need of no convincing, all instinct, Harry thinks only of getting Louis out safely.

Dagger in hand he flashes his fangs, sweeping the area again, analyzing the weakest links, then the–, “Okay, first of all, Styles, if this _duo_ is going to work out, you will never do _that_ again.” _That?_  He sounds thoroughly livid, stepping in front of his body (hissing when Harry immediately attempts to push him back behind). Backing him up is a growl from one of the _lycan’s._

Wordlessly he stares at him, never losing focus on the lycan’s. There is little movement aside from the crunch of earth beneath their claws and wildlife.

Harry’s skin crawls.

Louis collects himself, smiling a smile so pretty it makes him crazy and wild as the wolves around them. “I don’t need protecting, comrade. I hadn’t expected you to meet the whole family this soon, but no time like the present.”

Family.

As the omega says so a vampire appears from the edge of the forests a short distance away. A vibration from the chests of the beastly creatures manipulates the air around them as a thin, slim vampire with olive skin covers ground. Throughout Louis looks unfazed, at ease, never turning around to even make sure his throat isn’t seconds from being slit, and Harry remembers with a gut-clenching dread that the omega is still too naïve, too reckless.

“Brought a boy home, Lou?” _Boy?_

Finally, before Harry has no choice but to attack, Louis faces the other. “Trust me, I didn’t mean to. He won’t leave me alone.”

Louis is quite rude sometimes.

With a cough that sounds more like a laugh No-Name with the familiar face cranes his neck to pin him with slightly critical, but sympathetic eyes. “He’s always like this. Just a warning. He should really have you sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement before you’re in too deep.”

“This is mum, obviously. Goes by Z.”

Zayn. It’s all the information Harry needs. He has kept metal files on all his Covens civilians, and Zayn Malik is easily notable. A political outcome to formally sanctify the joining of vampire and lycan forces. Louis’ friend.

Louis’ brother. Who had acted as a home for the vulnerable fledgling Louis once was, who has been kind to him and from what the omega has said loves him.

Well that complicates things. Harry does not trust lycan’s, does not associate with them unless necessary. He also very much despises introductions. He settles on nodding to him briefly to refocus on Louis whose eyes look like a thousand diamonds strewn across a blue blanket.

“Doesn’t say much either. I like that.” He receives a smile and believes Zayn to be a most cooperative and unassuming alphena.

“Gives me more time to talk about myself. What’s not to like?”

These two together is worse coming to worst.

“And _this–,”_ Zayn starts as a mountain of muscle prowls through the pack, stopping at Zayn’s back, “is dad. Otherwise known as Alpha of the Northern Motherland territory.”

“Or Liam,” Louis adds unhelpfully.

On cue the creature curls it’s lips and snaps its jaw, ears flat against its skull. He does not like it being so close to Louis but has no desire in shattering the fragile peace they’ve met for Louis’ sake.

This is what being a part of Louis’ world means, and he’s been under this illusion long enough to sacrifice his dispositions. For Louis he will behave.

Clenching his jaw Harry acts on a laying down of arms. With no force he tosses his dagger at Zayn’s feet, hearing Louis’ sharp intake of breath and feeling…happy to have made him happy.

“I lay down my arms, I stand at your mercy, asking for approval. If not for myself, for Louis.”

He cares not about the whines that arise from the lower status wolves as the alpha’s uncanny eyes flicker to his omega. He doesn’t know what Louis tells in those silent seconds, but with a heavy huff from a huge snout, and a short growl that says if not for Louis’ sake this would be a bloodbath, the alpha nods his huge head, and it’s almost as if he’s rolling his eyes. He can’t be sure, and it isn’t a thought worth pursuing.

For now, Harry holds his head high and thinks about a better time. About what he’d said. _You aren’t the only one who knows you. I know you, Haz, and I will never run from you. I can’t stay, but if I could, if there were any other way, if things were different…I would. I’d stay every time.”_ He wonders if Louis meant it, or if it was a heat of the moment response. Which would be worse, he’s sure to discover.  

“Now that the formalities are over, how ‘bout dinner? I’m starving. You’re staying the rest of the day, aren’t you, _arshla_? Excellent, because we’ve a lot of details to work out and must have a _good-wishing_ before you’re off.” Louis says nothing throughout Zayn’s prattling, and Harry is anticipating what the omega will say.

“Mmm, dinner asap,” Louis sighs, glancing at him with an expression on his face Harry would need ages to figure out the meaning behind. “Harry’s going to join us, aren’t you, Haz?”

And that is that expression.

“If you’re all in you must, really,” Zayn agrees, then shoves at the alpha, Liam. His mate.

With guarded eyes Liam tempers again, not sounding swayed, and when his vampire mate chirps, “Liam’s all for it.” Harry doesn’t believe him.

Not that it matters to the two omegas.

Liam spares him a last glower before his massive body flies fluidly in direction of the heart of their den. With a skyward look Zayn follows in a blur of energy, the other lycan’s only then plowing forward through the ground, picking up dirt as they go. Some view him with curiosity, others with doubt and disgust.

Maintaining an outward indifferent the alpha does not return their looks, and soon they are gone again.

“Give them a chance,” Louis implores then, springing forward so they’re frame-to-frame, nose-to-nose. His senses are taken by the abrupt proximity, the omegas fragrance a sweet shock. “You’ve come this far. It’s a few hours that you get to see my world and meet _my_ people.”

Dazed, Harry doesn’t react by the time Louis’ spun away, headed the same way that others had. “C’mon, Haz,” he giggles softly, looking over his shoulder with an ardent grin. “Take a walk on the wild side.” At this point he can’t bring himself to say no, his skin secreting that bonding scent, melding deliciously with the omegas.

Catching up with ease he lets the small assassin take his hand (slightly damp for unknown reasons) and in the next few steps he knows if the omega told him to love him Harry would love him the best he could.

And he isn’t saying he loves him, not at all, but he could never stand to leave him, to be away from him.

_I’d stay every time._

One day he knows he’ll have to say it back: Please, stay.   


	8. part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for you all   
> xx

Part 8;

Louis knows how he feels, he doesn’t have to think about it. As soon as Harry catches up, stepping in beside him, his fingers fitting between his own gloved ones, his senses go haywire. A dark, dreamy fragrance sticks to him, keeping the nighttime air.

It’s Harry of course. He reeks of alpha, and evergreen and something pine that leaves Louis’ mouth dry and watering at the same time.

Doing his best to match Harry’s footsteps the small assassin risks glances at him whenever he thinks Harry isn’t looking. Every time the alpha is looking though, and every time their eyes meet Louis’ heart jumpstarts, and his temperature spikes until he’s bound to overheat.

He’s just recovered from the intensity of it when the alpha breaks stride to face him. “You’re unsettled. Why.” Confronted by him like this Louis plays his best poker face, but can help the flush creeping onto his face, no doubt dusting his cheeks an unbecoming pink.

A breeze toys with his dark curls, ruffling them a bit. Louis squishes the desire to reach up and run his fingers through the frizzy mess. His jaw is set, a sharp line that ticks every few seconds until Louis’ gums begin to throb in time with it. “Answer me, princess.”

“Why’d you come back? Since when do you care?” he demands just as boldly. “And where did you go last night? To the death-dealers?”

Harry recites robotically, “I am Executioner, sole destroyer of the _ahmari_. Direct descendent of Nyx, minder of the night–,”

“None of that matters,” Louis interrupts fervently, refusing to hear any of it.  “That’s not what I’m looking for, and you know it. That isn’t you talking, and I’m not so easily convinced, Haz.” He means it too. After the ugliness these past few months have revealed Louis really needs something true. Something real…and his omega needs it from him.

Acting on some dormant instinct the small assassin closes the space between them so his hand rests on Harry’s chest as he seeks out his depthless gaze.

A little noise of approval leaves his parted lips the moment Harry finally locks eyes with him again.

His pale eyes show Louis how clearly he reads him, but there’s a passion about them now he’s never seen there before.

Hope flowers all throughout his body. “I see no other way, sunshine,” his voice is leisurely, timeless. “I will always come back. You brought back the feeling in me I thought I had lost forever. My heart…exists only in yours. Without you…I’m empty.” Louis takes it all back, Harry Styles will be the end of him.

Goddess, that’s wrong though. That must be wrong.

He’s so close now, and that voice of his–that strong, deep voice–seems magic. But the hum in Louis’ body makes him feel like he has a paint mixer in his belly. He feels all the air leak out of his lungs and get trapped in his chest.

And he knows the exact instant Harry senses his retreat, becoming aloof as he tacks on, “The death-dealers, like you, are endlessly loyal to Her cause. I need to provide a location to ground plan. No interaction or exposure. An area to map out as we cannot afford blind action.”

“On my terms? Or yours,” he asks airily, already starting on his way again. Anxiety crawls up his spine like a thousand spiders. Including Harry suddenly seems a mistake. Louis was never meant to play this part: the sidekick. “I say we’re even, Haz. I need no more favours from you, and I–this is no way to repent for your sins. My terms or take your _help_ elsewhere.” 

He will not be dissuaded or talked out of this. He will not allow his mission to be compromised. Because then it will all be for nothing, and it can’t be.

It can’t be.

His brain feels swollen, mayhem fraying his nerves to the point that he doesn’t notice Harry’s advance until the alpha’s impersonal hands close around his upper arms. “I decide when we’re through.” Harry offers no other answer regarding the entirety of Louis’ provoking spiel, but he decides words are not the way of warriors, which works out perfectly as actions have always proven more effective for Louis as well.

A fight is exactly the outlet his vampire craves right now. His favorite sort of venting.

Especially with an opponent so worthy of his time and temper.

Mind already made up, Louis’ fists shoot out with intent, forcing Harry to dodge, his long upper body fluidly avoiding the blow.

As the alpha regains his footing Louis’ frustration simmers in shades of blue. His vision refines, expanding to house all the energy his body harvests. He can feel his blood flow’s fresh power, his heart overflowing with it. He can feel Harry’s energy just the same, a different transmission Louis’ held by. 

“You look lovely like that.” His voice carries like a calling, sending frissons of heat up his spine. Honestly, Louis will never understand Harry’s logic.

With a sweet smile Louis pursues offensively, biting through drawn fangs, “I’d look lovelier walking away.”

He strikes out at his shoulder again, but the alpha’s body is truly an artform, forming one graceful arc midair to settle facing him. Louis’ arm is extended still, fist clenched in anticipation as Harry murmurs, “Try not to work so hard, princess.”

The trace of amusement in his scratchy voice incites Louis’ next outburst. He lunges at him vehemently, using all angles and limbs only to be evaded each time. It’s starting to seriously piss him off–he needs Harry’s perfect control to lapse for once. For him.

As the fight–Louis’ attack more like–goes on it begins to seem impossible. A real professional, this male. “I mean it. Channel yourself. You’re moving with too much external strength. Tiring your body at a rapid rate.”

Shedding the glamoured velvet cloak Louis falls into a fighting stance, baring his incisors to specify a challenge.

A motionless statue (entirely too stress-free for Louis’ liking) the alpha is a fiercely gorgeous vision. All wilted curls and fierce edges. Heart racing Louis leads with his leg, predicting Harry’s actions just in time to catch him around the shoulders and knee him in the stomach one, two, three times. It’s like hitting stones, leaving him with no choice but to put in more effort. Aiming for accuracy, for–

Harry’s hand closes around his arm, this time twisting hard enough that Louis has to move with him or risk serious injury to his arm.

Panting, he coils to go for his dagger but stops short of his next attack as Harry speaks over the forests quiet. “Do not rely on objects for weapons, princess. You are the deadlier of the two. Let go of emotion. Feel nothing but your own power. Use your internal force. Let it out.” His arm follows Harry’s direction before Louis thinks to resist, then his forearm is pinned to his lower back held at the wrist by Harry’s hand.

A soft breath leaves his parted lips as his body becomes hyperaware of Harry’s, nearly draped over his. His hair tickles Louis’ flushed cheeks, and his fingers leave his skin a little tingly. “Go ahead, princess. Show me…Let it out.”

_Let it out._

Louis’ temper has always been the quick changing sort that goes from zero to one hundred in seconds. That’s not the case this time. This time he has the sense to know he’d be letting out nothing good, and it’s a crushing consciousness. 

He shakes his head firmly, tugging on his arm, knowing Harry will let up. It still thrills him when the alpha does, his eyes a little more heated than before. “Trust me, that’s the last thing anyone needs.”  He rubs at his wrist unconsciously, his omega already missing the alpha’s touch.

“You are only dangerous if you allow yourself to be so.” _Fat fucking chance, Haz._

In a swinging motion Louis surges at him again, but this time it’s not as measured. More frantic. He hates that, so much so that he refrains from any further pursuit, clenching his fists. “You don’t get it.”

“Help me get it then.”

“I’m not like you,” his voice breaks, and he almost does too. The remaining, pent-up energy he keeps safe and sound within his chest swarms then expands to his veins and vessels straight to his heart.

A blue blanket transfixes the earth around them, but the smaller assassin is intent on the alpha planted across from him.

Blurring against gravity their bodies move in a harsh, erotic rhythm. His skin latches onto the energy Harry puts into every halfhearted blow. Nonetheless Harry keeps up with ease still. He always does.

With no choice but to retreat, Louis does so with vigilant eyes, gauging him. “Look at me. That’s all there is to get.”

A wave of desperation crashes over him; he needs Harry to see him. Who he is because he desperately needs to know himself. So, he stands there in all his blue misfortune, unbreathing. He wants to close his eyes, or look away, but can’t. Captured by him, and all his darkness.

In the dark.

With nothing between them for once.

“I only have eyes for you.” A very alpha-like agitation mars his both his voice and his direct stare.

Shame constricts his chest, and his flight response finally kicks into gear.

“You’ll have to let me go eventually, Haz. I’m not the one you want to love.” Blood floods his mouth as his teeth clamp down on tongue to keep himself from taking it all back.

His heart wants to tell him _I am exactly what you need. Nobody could ever take my place._ But a leader must use their head, not their heart.

That red stare flares with anger, like he’s cheated him of something. A lick of heat hits him in the belly but thaws under the blast of cold that hails from Harry’s body. “Princess, you’re already good as gone to me. You’ve made that clear. Any other concerns?”

Louis quickly averts his gaze as the pain hits his chest, burrowing deep into his heart, darkening it. He can’t let Harry see his tears, though. Or the hurt, broken, urge to lash out in his eyes. He reminds himself there is no other option, and there isn’t. Because if Harry gives the last of his love to Louis, it’ll be destroyed by the end of this. And there will be none left to give to their people, their Goddess.

This is for them, the sacrifice of one for the many.

Harry will understand one day. As an Executioner he must.

Still the pain ripples through him, slicing him until he wouldn’t really be surprised to find his body bleeding. Clearing his throat, Louis blinks away the remaining moisture and lifts his eyes like he didn’t just get broken into two. “My terms.”

He waits until Harry nods curtly across his blue film, never giving him the chance to comment or ask questions. “The hoards location is not going to be our focus. I will explain soon but do what you will with the information regarding their movements, etcetera. Poland, midst the mountain Rysy, the north-western summit. It’ll be the highest peak, the mouth of the cave is right off the valley. That’s the way I…that’s the entrance. Don’t bother asking, you’ll get your answers when I’m ready to give them.”

He wants to badly to swap his conscious with Harry’s to escape his own demons. Just to live one day without seeing that fledgling everywhere. Like in the trees, watching them–right now. “Does she still haunt you? Gemma?” 

He forcibly concentrates on Harry again. He doesn’t visibly react, tucking what Louis thinks to be his phone back into his pocket. _So quick to take charge._

Then: “The dead are gone. I can do nothing for them. I can only help the living.”

“She isn’t gone though. She lives on in you, and me. So does that fledgling. We must bring them justice, avenge them. How can you disagree?”

Still blank-faced the alpha shrugs his broad shoulders. “I don’t. I avenged my sister. Her fight was over. That fledglings fight is over, sunshine. Yours lives on, and perhaps in that theirs does too. But if you kill yourself trying to avenge her, it’ll all be in vain and there goes your salvation, princess.”

As his body tingles from head-to-toe, he wants to put his fist through a wall, through the nearest tree, through Harry’s upper lip. But he knows that won’t get him anywhere.

As they stand in a stalemate Louis searches his mind for the right words.

He doesn’t come up with much.

It’s just his luck that Harry’s a determined gentleman, inclining his head. “The Clans were wrong to deny you initiation. You would have made a fine warrior, you know that?”

“I am one. And the _ahmari_ are my only enemy.” 

**

    Thriving in Louis’ blue storm Harry is unable to make sense of anything aside from him. His skin is fiery from action, from all his electrical voltage such as harnessed lightning bolts, intensifying the dark scent of his animal’s claim. After all he’s been through it is still a hard-hitting truth. Of course, he’s bonded with him. Louis is a fighter…like him. 

Incandescent sapphire eyes size him up and a frenzy of lust and bloodlust alike rails through him, his cock punching into an erection. His mind floods with an instinctive, highly volatile need to be inside this omega. Nearing a critical overload hit when Louis narrows his eyes, and says snippily, “Don’t even think about it.”

“About what.” His voice is shot. Damn it.

Louis scowls something violently gorgeous, and he’s hard as steel in his trousers. Very visibly, too. Not even the darkness’s discretion can save him if Louis’ stormy eyes lower. And he might, going by the steely tone he puts out, “You’ve got that look. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out where your heads at.”

He almost thanks the Goddess for not making a mind reader of his omega. But is reminded that the Goddess surely would not approve of his yearning for Her most devoted advocate. Would surely strike him dead for his sordid vision of Louis begging to be served by him.

Fortunately for him Louis’ air of sudden sadness cuts through the filth of his mind. “Blood must have blood. Is that not the only law by which Executioners live by?” A brief pause, enough time for Harry to be blinded by the light of him that fills up the space around them. “Do you believe in this?”

Unable to follow Louis’ logical progression Harry answers honestly, “Blood must always have blood.” It is a hallowed mantra of the Warrior lineage; one Harry refused to believe in before slaying the previous Executioner.

Louis’ natural forcefield falters, the brilliancy eluding them rapidly. He wants to reach out, to capture the blue fire in his hand, to hold it, but watches it all drift away then dissolve in the air. The glow abandons his face first, draining him of color, turning his bright eyes cold. He looks utterly small, utterly exhausted. It is the sacrifice of leadership. Bearing everything so your people do not have to.

It’s in Harry’s blood, his legacy.

But Louis…

A small giggle floors him, flooding the open air between them. The creature responsible stands trying to muffle the sound with the back of his hand.

When the omega peers up at him again through those wispy eyelashes his eyes speak about dreams. “Then understand nothing will stand in my way or stop me. Just like you I will do whatever necessary for my people, for my Goddess.” The threat doesn’t match his eyes.

Harry feels dazed, bewildered by whatever lure Louis’ using on him. Louis’ retreating figure is likely the only answer he will get as the look he casts over his shoulder tells a lot more about trouble.

Which is exactly what Louis of the Clans is.

Trouble.

Trouble with toned legs and soft golden skin. With a narrow waist, and a flat belly. A flawless face.

“I can see you staring at my arse,” he says, taking them further into lycan territory. Without the cloak (he hadn’t seen him retrieve but sees it tucked away in his arm) he does receive a most spectacular view of it, and once mentioned staring is all he can do. 

Full, round, perky. Hugged by sleek, black leather and weapons. “It’s hard to notice anything else in that outfit,” he mutters to get Louis away from the topic. “Why haven’t the lycan’s checked on you yet? Or spied on me.” He scans the perimeter for the first time, uncertain of what to make of the lycan’s den. Their land is vast, territory Harry has never seen up and close as it was deemed an unnecessary risk before now.

“They know I can handle it,” Louis dismisses him, and his alpha wants to do something about that. About him, thinking he’s in control. “And how so? It’s an average sexy badass outfit.” On a far from average, next-level deviant. Sexy, yes. Mostly a wild, lovely deviant with big problems Harry still does not fully understand, who’s heart is still good, who wants to save everyone.

He’s right though. It’s not his outfit that commands attention. It’s him. It’s always him. “Mmm, silence,” the small one announces his victory, sounding pleased. “Rest easy, Executioner, I won’t let you ravage me.”

Mood swings are one of this creature’s quirks. Often, he is unbalanced, a loose cannon. It’s obvious pushing Harry away is his goal, and Harry is not at all equipped to figure out complicated omegas. He is confused by his mixed signals, his mind firing blanks.

“Did you remember me? From before. When we first met.” By now the small assassin is almost running but Harry doesn’t think mentioning it will benefit his cause. He blinks, observing the civilized looking barricade they’ve reached. It’s astounding, but not so much as Louis’ question which still requires an answer. He has only seconds before Louis will sink his claws into the opening, and it’s as he slows down that Harry is apace, and listens to himself ask, “Would you expect me to?” He does. He’s never been able to forget.

He knows the answer before Louis breathes, “Yes,” and follows with, “This way.”

Louis leads him around a bend bordered by the tower of stone and a line of houses side-by-side. It isn’t the high living of his species, but it isn’t exactly the mud Harry had been inclined to believe. It’s old in appearance, adorned by an aura of happiness and peace. He’s intrigued, but it has less to do with the lycans and more to do with the creature prancing on the brick path. He is prancing, his steps both high and springing.

At this point Harry picks up on the lycan’s presence a distance ahead where a lit-up manor is centered around an area more shop-like. Most shops are dark with vague _closed_ signs outside the door. There are others still visible by soft lamplights. “This is alpha domain. Well, _that_ technically is,” his delicate hand sweeps the air, motioning to the fortress of stone. “It’s not what you were expecting, huh?”

He glowers at a pair of eyes peering through the drapes from within a dim boutique. “That’s just Perrie. She’s a friend. She owns that boutique and makes all her merchandise there by hand. Very talented. She lives for drama. She probably thinks you’re fit. It’s the Bambi walk I reckon. Or the curls.” He almost asks if Louis shares these thoughts but is far too prideful. (He also doesn’t have any such walk.)

“I’m not here to make friends. Or create drama.”

Louis arches an artful brow, and his voice is all sarcasm. “Yet here you are.”

Harry feels his blood rise and reminds himself that anger is not appropriate for a leader. Calm, levelheaded domination works best. “Trust me, princess, it’s not because I want to be.”

“I have two theories. A: you just can’t bring yourself to say no. B: you’ve got it in your head that I want your help. Which I don’t, by the way.” Well if that doesn’t just peel the skin right off him.

With a deep breath Harry straightens, and fully intends to ignore him, but catches sight of him from where he stands on the first landing up the stairs to the domain. His hands are fisted on his hips and his face is sunny with a spiteful delight that speaks of a mission accomplished. And that.

That.

Impulsively, without permission, his body reacts, surging forward so he’s crowding him. He lays one hand on his hip, possessive and purposeful as Louis blinks up at him owlishly, his beautiful eyes stunned. His mouth is parted, his lips both plush and glossy, and the memory of his taste drills right to the forefront of his brain.

Louis exhales softly, dipping dangerously close, his breath warm and sweet and– “Careful, you’re creating drama.”

“You are drama, your highness.”

He rolls his eyes crudely and Harry’s fingers dig into his flesh as a punishment, satisfaction simmering deep in his soul at the sound of Louis’ high-pitched gasp. He’s quick to recover, smiling tightly. “I’m _interesting_.”

He is.

Harry does not say that, especially not after he follows up with, “And you’re boring. Mind numbing even.”

“You’re a brat _,_ ” his voice nothing but a deep, purring growl. “You infuriate me. You’ve brought nothing but disorder to my life. You’ve challenged my every thought. And still you are worth protecting. You are worth fighting for, saving. Even if I can no longer say that for anyone else. You don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to trust me, but I won’t give up. So, if you can manage to tone down the passive aggressive defiance, I might actually surprise _you_.”

Harry can’t trust himself to be with him, to bond with him. But he has absolute faith in his ability to keep him safe, no many how many _ahmari_ he has to eat alive.

Louis’ face falls, but the alpha doesn’t not shy from his inspection, their stare boring into each other’s. His eyes are a little lost again, and Harry almost wonders if he’s heard anything he’s said but then he whispers near inaudibly, “Maybe you’re right, but what if I fall in love with you?”

His first thought is _impossible_. It would be a cosmic joke. A glimpse of distress crosses his face, but the expression is buried fast. “You won’t,” he assures him strongly, hating the words. "You–,” he is cut short by an intrusive _ahem._

Reluctantly untangling his body from the small assassins Harry looks at Zayn clearsighted. Leaning lazily on one of the pillars of the front porch leading to the great opening of the manor the omega is evidently counting on an explanation for either their delayed arrival or their intimate positions. Louis is the one who supplies. “Just sorting some things out.”

“Neither of you look very sorted,” Zayn snorts, silver-lined eyes entertained. He isn’t dressed for battle, his outfit more cotton then anything else. He’s never seen Louis dressed so comfortably, outside of those silk night dresses. He tries to imagine him in denim and cotton. He doesn’t see the omega ever opting for trainers, but otherwise–

Louis sniffs haughtily, finishing his stride up the stairs and brushing past his best mate. “Honestly, whose side are you on?”

“I’m claiming independence,” Zayn says wryly, starting to follow him.  

While neither are paying special attention to him Harry tracks them through the manor with vigilant eyes, nose twitching at the overwhelming odor of the wolves. He concentrates his mind on evaluation–all exits and entrances are accounted for dispassionately, all bodies totaled.

They remain on ground level, passing the grand stairways through some lively corridors into an intimately lit room with a grand oakwood table front and center.  Extraneous paintings secured along the walls, a mirror or two as well which puts his alpha off instantly. He’s never been able to stand his reflection, and strays from its presence.

Overall the area is clean, comfortable, and pleasant enough.

Harry hasn’t gone hungry since his fledgling days, but the smell of what must be dinner leaves him feeling a bit emptier than before. He’ll factor in food once they’re both out of lycan land. He refuses to allow any of the food presented decoratively on the table into his body as he does not trust it (and if he had his way Louis wouldn’t be eating any either).

Presumably Liam is settled at the head of the table, looking grim but more human without all the fur.

He is fair with brown hair and a vascular body build that shows of strength. He quickly weighs his dress code, much like Zayn’s: denim and a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His eyes are trained on Harry, and Harry would be lying if he said he did not understand.

Liam, like Harry, must always put his people first. Allowing Harry onto his territory is an elevated risk. One Harry would not have taken were it his own. Two measly guards are pinioned to the wall behind their alpha on either side. Both betas. Both armed. He would never assume differently.

His vampire omega greets him with a lingering touch, and only then does Liam look away, a wide smile breaking over his features. “You drive a hard bargain.”  

“Don’t I always?”

Admiration gleams in his lycan eyes, and that is all the reason for Harry to point his own eyes elsewhere. At Louis who is observing the food on the table, his eyes animate when they land on a foreign food Harry’s never seen before.

It doesn’t look particularly appetizing, but Louis’ already grabbed a plate from the table and loaded most of the brown colored mush onto it. He proceeds to pick a loaf of soft, slightly browned bread, going unobserved by the reunited couple. Louis’ appetite has recovered, and Harry can’t deny his relief.

Louis is strong, but he is still as mortal as them all. Malnourishment is not a warrior’s death; he doesn’t expect such an off from him, but he still is not taking care of himself the way he should. He’s too thin, bony almost, and he’s only now shaking off the anxiety fighting with him in such a state had caused.

It would be hypocritical to say anything, and there is no longer a reason to so his alpha yields with little struggle. Satisfied for the time being.

As Louis’ tucking himself in he peers up at him, smiling what Harry could only describe as bashfully. “It’s called _ulturak,_ Liam’s pack’s secret recipe.” Still skeptical, the alpha wants to shove the forkful out of his hand. He tops the bread with the mush and then chews slowly, voicing his enjoyment with an appreciate hum once he’s swallowed. “Goddess, this is exactly what I needed.”

“Liam made it specially for you,” Zayn tells without a hint of jealousy.

Louis turns the full force of his smile on Liam. “Should’ve known. Sweet wolf,” he coos, and Harry discovers jealousy is toxic. He reminds himself why he is here, which sadly is not to dispose of the lycan. Louis believes they are to be trusted, and Harry still has plenty reason not to trust Louis.

Nothing comes free though, especially not trust. “A proper parting gift.”

Perched on Liam’s lap now Zayn looks at him directly, seemingly unruffled by his murderous glower locked on his mate. “You’re welcome to some. There’s plenty for us all. You must.”

“Trust me you’re wasting your breath if you try declining. Even politely. They’re ruthless and will nag you until you at least pretend to eat,” Louis divulges boldly, bread hovering just near his mouth. His tiny, pink tongue pokes out, swiping his bottom lip and the last thing on his mind is anything food related. “Besides you look a little lonely standing there by yourself.” His voice flows silky, and Harry can’t even look at him. He’d see it all over him, the bonded alpha, and it’d scare him.

He can’t even fault him for that, it’s equally as scary for Harry. Which is why he disengages those thoughts entirely, erasing the codes. To appease him the alpha pulls out the furthest chair and sits stiffly, only looking up when Louis springs to an abrupt stance, disrupting the previous stillness.

Plate in hand the omega approaches him with no caution, completely relaxed, pushing all the courteously put together entrees away, towards the treacherous edges, to settle on the table, thighs split. If he leant in a fraction he– “Try this,” Louis orders, shoving a piece of bread topped with lycan food in his face.

Harry unconsciously grimaces, then frowns at Louis’ scrunched eyebrows and unhappy face. “I don’t like it.” He’s talking about his unhappy face.

“You’ve never even tried it,” Louis scoffs, again diving for his mouth with food. He better pray to his Goddess that none of that gets on his clothes. “C’mon, try it! If you don’t like it, then I’ll stop. Deal?”

His sapphire eyes are shining hazardously, and he can tell he’ll stop at nothing to get that rubbish down his throat. It’s captivity all over again.

“He’ll never stop,” Liam unknowingly agrees with him.

“He’s the one stalking _me,_ ” Louis says in plain exasperation. As he’s sidetracked Harry snags his wrist in one hand, stilling his arm. He can tell Louis notices, crossing his legs on a jerky movement, but otherwise his head remains tilted towards Liam.

“Aye, but you’re the one who kidnapped him,” Zayn quips good-natured.

“For good reason!”

“It was unnecessary, which I insisted throughout the entirety of it all.”

Harry stiffens, but Louis’ demeanor is cool and calm. He expects anger and retaliation at this point considering Louis’ reactions to _him,_ but to the other omega Louis must hold a real love. He guards himself cleverly, turning the spotlight on him. Traitor. “We got to know each other better, didn’t we, Haz?”

He lies for him because a leader never does anything alone. Even Harry has had his death-dealers, his brothers and his sisters. He’d had Gemma. Louis will have him.

“It was a learning experience,” he mutters, sounding mildly bored.

Louis looks at him again.

_Good._

Accusations glitter in the bluest blues, and Harry face splits into a rare smile.

Someone says something, but Harry is fixated on Louis’ free hand, creeping towards the sheathed dagger strapped to his thigh. His fingers are curling around the hilt when Harry acts fast, covering his warm, hateful hand with his own.

Silently fuming, but aware of his comrade’s attention, Louis keeps the anger out of his voice. _Proud boy._

“Eat, or I won’t stop. Ever.”

“Louis, remember force isn’t always necessary,” Liam intones diplomatically.

“Right, _you_ try talking to an _ahmari._ Should I invite one over for tea? Or maybe a bite of my heart?”

“Your cold, dark heart,” this time Zayn, spirited.

Harry can’t help but roll his eyes, and if he’s not mistaken–which he isn’t–Louis’ lips twitch a little, hinting at a smile. To throw him off, to get it over with, he drags his restrained arm forward. It’s rewarding, worth all the trouble, worth all the rules he’s breaking. Worth his life, and his death. The delighted surprise that enhances his entire face for a short-lived moment.

Even worth the rich taste of spices. He chews slowly, making a point to swallow. He can tell they’re all expecting some sort of remark and offending anyone is the last thing he needs in this volatile situation, so he nods, and forces a rusty laugh. “Worth trying. Now I see what all the threats are about.”

“It’s different from the food you come from,” Zayn replies, arching one dark-winged brow.

Harry doesn’t lose touch with the warmth of Louis’ dainty hand, and notices how his fingers flex. They’d been close, too close to be appropriate because as soon as the small creature straightens, his body slanting towards the pair, his scent lifts and mingles with the air. Every neuron in his brain starts to fire, his blood roaring behind his ears, his fangs surging from his gums.

He doesn’t care what Zayn’s said, but Louis defends him. “Don’t single him out like that. You come from the same place, prat. We both do.” He is losing his balance again because there is something about this walking-wreck that turns him to a savage. Not his alpha. _Him._

_Cool it, Styles._

Evidently, Louis is the only one allowed to single him out.

He tears his eyes away to see Zayn throw his hands up in a passive manner, groaning morosely, “Please, don’t remind me.”

Liam must reach his limit with all the chitchat and for that Harry is eternally grateful. “Alright, alright. Where we come from does not matter, what matters is where we are right now.” _Purgatory._

His brown eyes harden. “Louis, shall we begin?”

Without answering Louis sets his plate down on the table again and reaches across for the silver, creatively crafted pitcher. He proceeds to grab a nearby goblet, pouring what appears to be a sort of red wine to the brim then sipping hastily before it’s impending overflow. As he’s resettling, his thighs are a little wider than before, provoking him. Since all his movement Harry’s hand has slid down his thigh, now resting just above his knee.

“Is wine really necessary, considering the importance of what we’re about to discuss?” he asks deliberately.

“He has a point, Lou. There will be plenty drinks to go ‘round later.” _What is happening later?_

Unpredictably agreeable, Louis takes another enthusiastic gulp before putting the goblet down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, firstly, I’ve had a change of heart concerning my plans. I’m not going back to Poland.”

“What,” Zayn chokes out, mirroring his confusion. Possibly Liam’s as well.

“Hear me out,” Louis says with a vivacious smile, a new sort of confident. He plants his hands on either side of his hips on the wood, supporting his upper body as he props back lazily. “We’ve been looking at this all wrong _._ Marching in there any time soon after the stunt I pulled with the key is really a death-wish. Their odds of victory are high. We need the element of surprise. We need them to come to _us._ They’re going after William, yea?”

Harry is skeptical, recalling Louis coming to him with William’s key, and his subsequent pain. He remembers Louis’ words. He remembers every single one of Louis’ words. He’s always kept tabs on him.

“So, let’s be there when they get there. Let’s be waiting. How short are our numbers?”

_Short._ “Including you and I, fourteen.” 

A little furrow forms between his brows, but he continues without hesitancy. A proper leader. “Fourteen. Short but– “

“You’re not short. Your fight is our fight,” Liam interrupts powerfully. “We will fight, my army will fight.”

“And I am not staying behind,” Zayn adds.

The little furrow deepens, but the smaller does not argue–which irks him insanely though it shouldn’t. “Someone has to be here for the pack.”

“Goeff?” A forbidding look passes the lycan alpha’s face as he offers out the name.

“No. He’s in no state to monitor the entire pack.”

“I could ask Eleanor, Alpha of the West territory. She is a very kind and strong alpha. I trust her to protect them while we are away. And lead them if we do not return as I have no next of kin with Geoff in such a state...”

“You will return. You all will, so cut it out. See what Eleanor says.”

Liam nods civilly accepting the order, honestly wanting to help. To fight. To be there for him. “It’s settled then, I’m coming,” Zayn chirps, smirking wickedly, and maybe Liam just doesn’t want Zayn going off on his own, behind his back. 

“If she agrees,” Louis allows, his tone softening just a little towards his right hand before returning to its natural lilting. “Together we are stronger, smarter. We need to be thorough. No survivors, not a thing left standing. I want the hoard destroyed. We will need some high-tech fire-bombs so get on that. A group will stand behind to monitor the hoard. We’ll need insight on their movements, their route and their arrival.

“All the while we will already be stationed there. We will be ready for them when they come. We will need a distraction, and I’ve got that covered. We split them up, lead half to where Liam’s army will be waiting, the other half will be met by the death-dealers. We kill them all, and we keep them away from William’s prison. With or without the key they will be going after him. The hoards Commander, and Grimshaw I will take care of personally. We need to get the message across to other _ahmari–_ we are coming for them. Not the other way around.” In doing this Louis must hope to warn off the others long enough for them to regain the upper hand.

To give them a fair chance before detection.

Saving them all.

Pain pangs in his chest, forcing fresh open wounds for him to patch up in the darkness. Alone. Again.  

It’s a systematic, solid plan that seems to have been composed by a psychopath. Harry was missing a lot before. A lot of details, and a lot of imperative facts.

He figures it’s time to ask while Louis is offering answers. “How is Grimshaw linked to the hoard?”

Aside from his abuse on Louis. He’s temporarily blinded by crimson rage, his alpha disinclined to wait anymore. It disturbs him, the pressure his alpha is putting on his nerves. His control. 

Some instincts even the smartest brains can’t override, but not Harry. The only instinct he’s prone to is the one that tells him to get Louis underneath his body, get him wet with slick and all shades of pink from his hands and his mouth and his fangs and–

An evil expression flickers on his pretty, sun-kissed face, but Louis masks it swiftly. It’s ironic. “They’re involved, that’s all I can say right now. Just know he deserves what is coming for him.” As if Harry ever doubted that. For his violating acts against Louis alone the rat deserves to suffer. Not ready to let it go Harry decides to bring it up again when they’re alone, when Louis is his. Because lately when they’re alone Louis is his. His laughter. His smile. All his snarky insults.

_Mine._

His response is only a reminder of Louis’ wild nature though. His age. He lives too fast, always cruising maximum altitudes. And it is such a shame he is always arranging his own _Passing_ , awaiting an end. That he doesn’t plan to change his pace.

He lives too fast and Harry just wants to convince him to wait, slow down and give this more time. Nobody would have to die, if there were more time.

And there are two things he can’t force or buy from Louis: his time and his choice.

To the royal with the self-proclaimed prophecy Harry is just another dark soul who’s done too many things he cannot undo.

Louis carries on delivering details as well as thoughts that tie together the many loose ends of his proposal. He doesn’t explain his _“distraction”,_ nor does he touch on the color that illuminates his entire pixie-like body, that stops the ebb and flow of time, and the compulsion of it all. He never mentions his dream invasion aptitude.

There is still so much missing, and Harry is going to make sure Louis fills in all these blanks. Soon.

All in all, Harry isn’t impressed, knowing the circumstances could still change, but he doesn’t entirely disapprove. Life is all about chances and timing, the preliminaries of both success and failure.

His mind is reeling, though. Zayn looks pleased with Louis’ sociopathic work, but stress lines his mates face. Leader-lines, Harry amends after another lingering glance the alphas way. He doesn’t have them, but he doesn’t have much really. Not inside.

Liam lays his palm flat on the table and announces he will be calling Eleanor and will _“catch up later at the gathering”. Gathering?_

With a slow kiss for Zayn that Harry could have lived without witnessing, a kind smile for Louis, and a warning squint his way, Liam promptly exits the room.

The two betas remain, safeguarding the two omegas though it’s hardly necessary bearing in mind Louis’ skill. Louis who sits up and stretches with both arms extended high. A soft breathy sound eases out of him, and Harry almost lunges for him.

Almost. He hasn’t forgotten Liam’s _gathering_ remark.

Louis speaks above him when he tries to ask, and the alpha decides to pardon him this time. “I’m going to my room to change into something more…ya know. How many hours til sunrise?” No, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t have any idea. 

“Four,” Harry robotically says.

“Wow. He’s good,” Zayn follows up with, glancing down at his phone with high eyebrows. _Fledglings._ “Exactly four hours. How did you know that?”

“Hardly matters,” Louis interferes, his body waning in Harry’s hands to rematerialize at the doorway.

“You couldn’t have walked? It’s like ten feet,” Zayn teases softly.

His cheekbones are blossoming pink, and Harry sighs to Louis’ right hand, “He’s dramatic.”

“Got that right.”

Louis shakes his head, jaw clenched. “I’m out of here.”

“I’m coming.” Harry stands and catches up in seconds. More than a little winded, mostly because of the way Louis spins on his heels and crowds him. He’s jabbed in the chest by a tiny index finger, and they are nose-to-nose. “Please, don’t.”

His cheekbones are still flushed, and his soft russet hair has grown. His fangs are out to play, drawing out his darkest desires. “I won’t be in your way, princess _._ Just background noise.” Despite his solid conduct Harry is very much affected by him, wanting excessively to cover his lips with his own.

“I don’t like you.”

_Liar._ “I never asked you to.”

“’M still here, fyi. And Harry can always wait outside, Lou.”

Louis erupts in happy laughter, crinkly eyed laughter, and Harry feels lighter. Breathes lighter.

As soon as they break apart Zayn moves in to toss an arm around Louis’ shoulders. The two stagger a little before their equilibrium evens out.

As they keep on they are whispering to each other, and Harry hears every crass word of it. Trying not to listen, but–

_“He’s not exactly a people-person.”_

_“That’s ironic.”_ It is.

_“I say we ditch him.”_

A glance over the shoulder from Zayn. _“He definitely heard that.”_

Soft, shared giggles.

Maybe he should to sit this one out. Fledgling sitting these two is bound to be a losing-game, and he has no basis to believe any lycan here would harm Louis. In fact, they seem as besotted with him as anyone else.

Louis certainly wouldn’t mind space, and honestly, Harry has examining to do on his own. He is impatient to hear Dylan’s update on Grimshaw, insight on his covens and the _ahmari_ hoard.

As he contemplates this they reenter the front foyer with the grand chandelier centered overhead and the two spiraling stairways. No lycan’s in view.

Veering up the right stairway up to the second floor through another maze of corridors to arrive at what must be Louis’ guest room. All without disruption.

_Miraculous_.

_Strange._ “Where are the others?” he asks, looking nowhere in particular as Louis fishes out a key to undo the locks.

Zayn smiles an _I-know-something-you-don’t_ smile _,_ “They’re around.”

Harry makes up his mind then.

&&

            Louis’ skin is warm, his hands flighty with excitement as he gets the door open, ignoring Harry and Zayn. He’s eager to dig into the box of clothes from Perrie he’d stashed deep in the wardrobe. His favourite spring dress lies there folded neatly, never worn. A canary yellow floral print dress with a plunging neckline that reached mid-thigh. It was light enough to wear outside, and Louis couldn’t let it go without wearing it at least once.

He isn’t expecting to be pushed into the room by a huge warrior frame with all hard, stark muscle. Harry’s lips are dangerously close to his ear. Longing unravels in his belly, and Louis is already so wet. Soaking even. A delicious heat begging to unknot and flower into an orgasm.

Harry rips away from him, and Louis’ thighs are trembling, his omega a whimpering mess. _Oh please._

A dull _click,_ the familiar latch of the locks announces the door shutting behind him. Sluggishly Louis turns to face the alpha planted between himself and the only way out. _Figures._

A beating from the other side of the door then an uptight growl from Zayn, “Should I go? I get this feeling I’m unwanted!”

“What are you doing?” Louis asks gently, tilting his head a little.

His heart kicks up into his throat as Harry barks only to Zayn, “I’ll have him back to you by the time of the _gathering.”_ There is an extreme venom in his voice that will only set his best friend on edge so Louis forces out in a reedy voice, “It’s okay, Z. We’ll talk later.”

“Sure,” Zayn grouses, but Louis knows he’s already been forgiven. Moving onto the mountain of an alpha issue in front of him.

“You can’t keep me in here.”

“Princess, I could keep you in here forever if I wanted. I won’t though, because abduction is not my thing.”

Louis purses his lips, trying so hard not to return the smirk that’s got his dimples on display. Christ, he’s such an arsehole, but worse he’s a self-assured gorgeous one. “Honestly, low blow. You enjoyed every second of it. Of me.”

A deep red darkens his eyes, and for a short heartbeat Louis thinks the alpha is going to pounce. To bend him over the bed and bruise his ass until he’s begging him to do something, _anything._

He only looms, shifting his eyes about the room.

Louis blushes brilliantly then chews on his bottom lip, inwardly chastising himself for those thoughts. “Explain this _gathering._ ”

_That’s it?_

Such an alpha.

“I thought it’d be best to have the pack preoccupied while you’re here. Zayn announced they’d be hosting my _going-away_ party to get them into something else.” A sulky growl that voices Harry’s disagreement. “I knew you’d react like this, so we tried to keep it discreet.”

As if it’s nothing Louis waves a hand, making the short stride over to the wardrobe. Hyperconscious of the alpha’s crimson gaze fixated on him and his every move.

A shiver dances down his spine, but his body is agile as ever. “Now if that’s all I’d like to undress.”

“That isn’t all. Undress. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” The alpha timbre steals his breath, sucks it right out of his lungs. A nervous flush coming over him as soon as his hands land on the box.

Thanks to his vampire vision he doesn’t have to fully remove it, hunting urgently until finally, _finally,_ the flimsy piece surfaces.

With his head ducked down Louis steps out of his heels, straightens, and doesn’t resist when Harry gets up in his space again. He doesn’t even breathe as the zipper slowly slides down to the cradle of his hips. His fingertips draw up the small sliver of his belly’s skin, up his chest to brush the points of his collarbones.

Already aching all over, dizzy from the lack of oxygen and Harry’s scent scrubbing his brain raw, Louis squeezes his eyes shut. _Oh Goddess, oh Goddess…_

His strong hands are somehow gentle, easing the material down his shoulders.

Cool air hits his skin, and two fingers pinch his jaw, showing his head back. Louis imagines he looks much like he feels: love-lost, fiery and a mess. The same hand holding his face shoves itself in his hair, holding him here. Hostage. “You’ve been neglected, and it will never happen again.”

It’s the only time Louis’ ever seen this look on this alpha. His eyes are green again, bright and open. So open. Hair wildly sorted around his face, his face that is flushed.  “Tell me...” Proximity. Fireworks. He is so close, watching cross-eyed as Harry’s pupils expand. “Does it feel good to be bad?”

“I wasn’t neglected,” Louis says dumbly, not yet processing the rest.

An animal-like sound. His hair is tugged on fiercely. Pleasure floods his system, burning on the edge of something beautiful. “It does, doesn’t it? That’s why you want me.”

His hair is being fisted now and Louis’ inhales sharply, filled by the scent he’s covering his skin in. Undeniably alpha, dark and dreamy.

Rosewood.

Carnal. Instinctive.

His bonding scent is thriving–everything about him is so alive _._

“Can you control this?” Louis only then grasps he’s lit up like Venus, finding his voice.

His scratchy voice that breaks _twice._ “No, but ‘m gonna learn.”

Another sweet swooping motion of his hand, over his ribs this time. He isn’t ticklish but laughs to cool the roaring need between his legs. To hide the quickening of his breathing. “What’s funny.”

“Definitely not you. You haven’t a funny bone in your body.”

A scathing grunt.

“Are you goin’ to let me get into my dress?” he grins, trying to pinch his side. (He really doesn’t have an ounce of fat). “You’ll be missin’ out if you don’t.”

Mute again Harry backs off to lean against the door, looking Godlike as ever. Observing him.

His prior enthusiasm reappears as he finishes Harry’s work on his skinsuit, swiftly slipping the dress over his head before much of his bare body is closely beheld.

Denying him the show.

Louis is very much in love with himself, but he hasn’t always been. His body is a sacred temple Louis’ never purposely abused, but his mind has recently unheeded his own health. Blood isn’t the only recipe for a well vampire. It’s very helpful in regeneration but not at all a magic remedy.

He’s embarrassed by his major weight loss and fully intends to reclaim his natural thickness. He doesn’t want to pass over looking like a bag of bones.

When he meets the Goddess, he hopes she will forgive his neglect. Harry certainly won’t, especially not with the way his bonding scent suspends severely in the room’s closed air.

The dress fits his figure perfectly though. Hugging all the right places at all the right angles. In attempt to ignore the alpha, he does a three-sixty in front of the tall mirror beside the wardrobe.

He looks exotic, red lips and rosy cheeks. No trace of blue his skin appears incredibly golden, his eyes a deep-sea. Wild hair, barefoot. 

Harry steps in behind him, armed with metals and bullets. A quiet, lethal energy. Oozing masculinity. His hand fists the end of the dress loosely, inching it up until Louis almost wishes he’d gone without underwear.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve got something on under this.”

Louis drops all his weight on him, his ass pressing down on the huge bulge Harry’s been sporting this entire time. Harry carries his weight without difficulty, his palm heavy on his jutting hipbone. His fingers so close to his trapped cock, swollen and throbbing, the crown poking out of his panties. “Like your mouth?” he mumbles a little deliriously, burying his nose in his shoulder. His shirt smells lightly of detergent, and his skin smells exactly like Louis’.

His omega is needy, wanting more.

“Trust me, my mouth is going to be all over you.” _Yes, yes, yes._ Now. “When I know you won’t change your mind after and try to castrate me.” Which Louis would _never._

“Pushing you away is my favorite pastime.”

Saying so makes the alpha tick, triggering him. His bonding scent crashes into his senses and Louis moans, pushing back on him frantically. Awarded by Harry’s slight shift forward, the denim covering his huge hard cock just barely grazing his wet flesh.

Feverish, blue skin shiny with sweat, his thighs sawing together, his cock leaking. Shameless in his need. 

And then Harry slips his hand underneath his dress, and his entire body seizes up a little, trembling.

The alpha touches his body like he owns it, his hand expanding over his belly. Resting there, claiming him as Louis pants, chest pumping rapidly. “I want to be clear, princess. Until you play nice, you will not be allowed any form release. I want you deranged with need.”

“W-Who’s stopping me?”

Finally, _finally,_ his hand descends to hover over his jumping erection.

Louis’ mouth is parted, his fangs scraping viciously on his bottom lip. Blood trickles then dries, and everything is fuzzy, and so deliciously fast. Under the alpha’s direction his feet drag clumsily until the world falls apart in slow motion and he drops face first onto the bed. His figure hits the mattress and Louis plays like he’s going to worm away, to make Harry work overtime for it.

His growl rumbles deep in his chest, and Louis’ lust-crazed enough to be wait. Flexible as he is Louis has no trouble perking his arse out in the air, presenting himself to his alpha.

Just like that his dress is shoved up, bunching at his twitchy hips. Humming with electricity Louis gasps when Harry’s hand slaps his arse. Hard. The _thwack,_ the ache and the pleasure. All so close to where he wants it most. “I am. Don’t cross me if you ever want to orgasm again.”

His arse is groped fully, squeezed by capable fingers, and when those fingers burrow between the bouncy rounds Louis claws at the sheets, locking his jaw before begging. _Please don’t stop._

His fingers prod at his dripping entrance and a falsetto of _“uhhh”’s_ break between his lips. Nothing’s ever felt this amazing is the thing. This mind-altering and overwhelming. “That’s right, princess. How’s it feel? Let me hear you.”

“Oh Goddess,” Louis whimpers, frustrated tears crowding the corners of his eyes. “Haz, I-I–,”

A slick stroke, lazy circles around his fiery flesh.

“Nyx isn’t here to save you, baby. Only me. Now,” a drugging drag over his hole in which Louis heaves, awash with heat. Utterly turned on. _Baby._

_Baby._

Louis’ hole instinctively clenches up, relentlessly grinding his arse against Harry’s fingers, now rubbing mercilessly. Never really penetrating. “You’re so wet, ruining your pretty little dress.”

“So close, ‘m so close,” he babbles, torn between the desire to rut into the mattress and sink down on Harry’s punishing digits.

“Shhh. You are exactly where I want you.” His deep voice rakes out into a jagged groan, but he takes back his hand. A scream lodges itself in his throat, but nothing emerges as Harry’s long limbs fold beside him.

Compliant, mislaid in his omega’s headspace, Louis clings to Harry’s wiry body, who’s arms chain around his waist. He’s big, so much bigger than Louis as he cries discreetly into Harry’s shoulder. Feeling wrung out and still insanely aroused.

Small snivels stutter out of him, and the alpha’s hand smooths back his damp hair, comforting him. Clawing at his shoulder blades, down his back, the smaller hiccups after a while, peppering small, open-mouthed kisses up the column of his thick throat.

Harry’s breath hitches, and his embrace tenses, but Louis enjoys kissing him too much to stop. His skin is hot, and the sultry spice of sex on his skin. “What’s so wrong with me? Why are you so set against me? You doubt me so much when I’ve never given you a reason to.”

Louis’ tongue is languid and loose, talking too freely. “I’m always on your side, Haz, I just like giving you a hard time.”

“It’d be in your best interest to cut it out.”

“Or die a virgin? You’re downright bad to the bone.” Louis lets this brew, then adds, nipping friskily at his jaw, “I mean there are others…”

Tension grasps his wide shoulders. “You promised yourself to me. You’re mine, princess. There’s no version of life without you that I want.” He’s such a romantic. It never fails to stab him straight through the heart.

A potent dose of endorphins charges his veins, revitalizing his blue dynamism. A part of him exists for this side of Harry, to test his boundaries. “You’re a delusional old bat.”

“And you’re in denial, fledgling. Face it, you feel it too.”

Harry pries him away, back onto the mattress rather than in his lap and Louis is angry with himself for his soft, protesting whine. With his legs tucked underneath his bum Louis shoots the now upright alpha a smoldering dirty look. “I’m leaving.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell.”

A warped smile somehow softens his features; his hooded eyes amused. His smile sours too soon though. “I hate being away from you.”

“Is it like being without a limb?” Louis jokes, wanting to appease him. To make his smile reach his eyes. He doesn’t smile enough, and Louis swears to make sure he’s smiling from ear-to-ear everyday if the Goddess spares his life.

“A lung,” the alpha mutters darkly. “It’s like being without a lung.”

Louis shuffles closer to the edge, to him, and sighs happily when Harry reaches out, cupping the curve of his face. “Behave, and I’ll reward you well.”

His thumb drags along the line of his bottom lip. “Don’t take forever. It’d better be worth the wait.”

“Haz, wait,” Louis blurts, stealing his hand, holding it. Using it to ground himself as he shares the thoughts that often keep him up at night. The ones that test his faith. “I…I don’t want to be alone. What if I’m all alone up there? In Her sky?” _Watching you move on. Live on._

_I don’t want to be without you._   

“You won’t be.”

Louis opens his mouth to tell him he couldn’t possibly know that, but Harry’s voice is a soft, safe place for his hurting heart. A shelter for his scared soul. “Gemma’s up there too.”  

“You better watch out,” he warns feebly. “If I meet Gems up there ‘m going to tell her you’re a tyrant.”

“She’d never believe a royal.”    

Louis quirks one brow, then whispers, “You did. There is still some good in that dark heart, Styles. That’s why you’re still here. Helping a _royal.”_

“Sweet _solis,_ you are so young.” His head falls back as Harry’s fingers mining into his jaw. A maelstrom of emotions swim in Harry’s eyes, captivating him. “Leave your worries with me today. Put death out of your mind. Act your age for once. Today you are alive and free.”

His alpha doesn’t sugarcoat anything. He doesn’t promise a happy-ending, or a full heart.

Because that’s not _him._ It’s never been him.

All this time Louis has been craving for something real, something true, and it’s been hiding in Harry’s heart. His lovely, dark heart.

 

 


	9. part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for takin' so long....so nervcited haha oh jeez been way too long
> 
> As always I'd love & appreciate any feedback!
> 
> Enjoy, loves!
> 
> Dani xx

 

 

Harry’s always blamed his sire for his mutilated mind; for discarding his soul to darkness.

In truth he never resented his dear sister for being pardoned of Desmond’s brutality. The male’s firstborn had exposed a common cause the camp required for any impression of peace.

Gemma Anne Styles. Nyx’s greatest granddaughter, first born of Executioner Desmond Styles which is all that mattered to the Clans in the dark periods of scarcity and fear of the _ahmari_. A brilliant light expelling the species darkest eras.

Harry’s birth had the exact opposite effect.

In the first acknowledgement he ever received from Desmond as his heir he had been condemned to exile for his mother’s death during birth. Shackled, bleeding out from both the _blood-letting_ ritual and the beatings, he prayed to the Goddess for redemption, for forgiveness.

His shame too supreme, his guilt to terminal to live with or through.

Cast away by all but his dear devoted sister–who despite despising conflict stood up for him, defended him. Against the most dangerous vampire to exist unflinching. Who did her best to love him, to show him some good. Some faith.

Even knowing his very first action in life was to take their beloved mother’s life. A curse, perhaps even Desmond’s bad karma.

Because of Gemma, in the Old Days, Harry felt. Deeply, intensely.

She always knew exactly what he’d needed in those precious moments alone they shared. She’d regard him with wide eyes the same shade as his own and quiet his sorrows with her stories of their _marema._ She hadn’t had much, but what she had was Harry’s then too. Those rare moments are the only times he’s ever felt true happiness, sheltered by his sisters love and their mother’s memory.

His past, his pain, losing her, losing _himself._  He’d been set up for a lifeless existence and it ceased to matter anymore without Gemma.

Nothing was clear then and nothing is clear now. Which must be why he returns to this place with nothing, but death and bloodshed attached to it time and time again.

As expected, there is nothing left of camp but wasteland after two centuries of corrosion. An arid zone of dusty rubble with absolutely no signs of life and yet he can still feel her here.

It’s been a while, since before his abduction to be exact, so the scatterings of all the flowers he’d loyally brought her over time have long since decomposed. Normally he wouldn’t notice, but everything’s different now. _He’s_ different now. 

In her honor Harry sets a freshly budding posy of daffodils–her favorite–down to rest. This time Louis’ words plague him, and he squeezes his eyes shut to escape the terrified, despaired look in her eyes just before the sun singed her flesh. The smell.

_The smell._

Nausea fists his stomach in a death-grip and the alpha doubles over, dry heaving. His mind tries to reject the memory, the feelings he’s never been able to bear before. Today feels no more special, no more bearable…

His skin is cold as ice, clammy with perspiration from the pain scalding deep at all the scar tissue encasing what’s left of desiccated organ in his chest.

The wind picks up, the fresh air lifting his scent, just strong enough to replace the one his senses long to forget. He feels no relief, wanting with more desperation to return to that bloody den to see how Louis is, to be back to that bright-light place of surging warmth.

He can’t leave though without speaking to her for the first and last time since her end. He hasn’t the time for that anymore which feels strange coming from an immortal.

“I wish you were here, and I’d do anything to bring you back…You brought the brightest of Nyx’s light to the world, sister. You would’ve accomplished far greater, far more than…than _this._ ” Harry brought only darkness, the _yang_ to Gemma’s _yin._ “You were taken too soon…that won’t be the case this time. It can’t be–I won’t allow it. I’ve only just found him, and I can’t lose him.” He has no choice but to pause, choking up on two lifetimes of despair and loneliness. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten everything at stake, everything you stood for…I could never, it’s that…for the first time I want to fight for something I believe in. Something of the Goddesses grace, if you might, so I’m certain you’d wish me to fight for this. This _madness_ and him alike. I could not do right by you then, I couldn’t save you…but I will save him. I’ll do right by the both of you.”

He doesn’t possess the ability to wield magic like witches or those of the higher spiritual realms, nor has raising the dead ever crossed his right mind (he’s not always so right-minded), but a tingling heat stings across his cheekbone in contrast to the cold air, like a touch.

True to vampire nature Harry’s head snaps up in nanoseconds, his vision refined and alert. A part of him half expects her to be there, and it may all very well be in his exhausted, nutrient deprived head but he’s driven by some silent force to oust his final words for her to hear. “He’s a sweet creature as much as he is a fierce warrior. I fear his love will be too much…but I wish to be worthy of it one day. For so long I’ve been nothing, no one and then I was Executioner before all else. My sole purpose has always been to fight, to destroy…but with him I want to believe in something more…” _These days_ _I do believe in something more…imagine that, sister._ _He’s the reason I believe again…I want to feel alive again._

_I can’t discredit his faith in me..._

“Redemption feels possible. I feel it finally…the light. Your light, his light, Her light and…” _I still want one for myself too, it’s just out of reach now and I’m determined to earn it._ “You live on in me eternally, and I vow to ensure that you live on in others after…I will never forget all you did for me, but you need not suffer your soul over the state of mine. I wish only rest for you in Her light, _arshla._ Look after Louis if you must…” There is nothing in his voice to prove it, but he feels a shift in himself, one that shakes him to the very core. “May we meet again, my sister. Goddess knows I can’t wait to see you.”

                                                                                          

It’s the closure they’ve both been denied so long, the closure he’s been selfishly avoiding out of fear of total isolation and darkness. Her energy, whatever remained trapped, slowly steals away until there is only utter silence.

His sorrow and the silence both are softened by the brief warmth that settles around him much like a hug. A comfort to him as she goes to Her and to her unborn young and all others lost. And even after he can no longer feel Gemma there with him, he can feel the impressions of her peace, gifting him briefly.

 

&&

 

“Uh oh. We’ve lost ‘im again. I’ve seen that look too many times before. Must be love.” A familiar voice dials down the high volume of his thoughts.

“Do you think it’s unrequited? I mean look at him, brooding, _woolgathering._ ”  

“Brooding possibly due to the _ahmari_ epidemic we stand to fall against.”

“There will be no such thing,” he snaps coldly, refocusing on his present state: crowded by his clan of warriors.

Wisely they move as one in unity with each other, backing away. His alpha deems the distance safe with his personal space intact and his airways finally relax, oxygen flooding his system in a headrush. From where they stand his warriors gape at him with a rapt assortment of sick amazement and alarm.

Quite daring of them considering the recent update: Louis was telling the truth about it all. Grimshaw’s betrayal, the hoard…his own sudden emotional intuition.

Not that Harry ever doubted his honesty, he’d just hoped there’d been a mistake in magnitude or obstacle.

Naturally with the news his mood is extremely vicious, black and cold as space, and yet somehow, taking it out on them is not appealing.

“What is the reason for… _this._ ” Their obvious gawping. Communication comes naturally within their small coven, but this has never extended to Harry. Of course, by his own doing.

“We’ve just never seen you so…distracted,” Selene states softly, as if addressing a stranger.

Teeth clenched to prevent his fangs from tearing free, the alpha listens to Ashton next. “You’re not yourself lately…” There’s more, he’s holding back by the flexing of his jaw. “

“Something’s different…” Ed sighs. “You’re different, Executioner. You’ve been different ever since your disappearance.” _I’ve been locked in a cage all this time; do you know what that means?_

Harry is acclimating quite poorly it seems.

“You’ve changed,” Ashton says plainly on a heavy exhale. “For the better if I may be so bold.”

“You–You’re just–You seem lighter… _happy_ is what he means to say!” Selene follows up nervously. But happy?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever smiled with anything close to such an emotion. Until recently…which may be their point.

_Just imagine that…_

“A personal matter,” Harry says quietly before it all escalates even though the word keeps pulling him back. _Happy._ “One I’m managing quite well without your prying. You all have a lot to understand and think over. _Your own_ happiness for the matter. So, the rest of the day is yours to do with it whatever you wish. Enjoy it. There is still much to be done come tomorrow.”

Nothing is ever so simple and it’s a tireless merry-go-round of objections and disagreements that only end once Harry’s control is spent.

It’s a dangerous fallacy for anyone to believe he wouldn’t snap their necks for no reason whatsoever. Underneath his guises and his patience are malicious impulses that pound through his body, shake his skeleton and brand his brain.

Bonded male mania of this severity is lethal, especially as it orbits around Louis of the Clans.

He should stay away, very likely to snap with so little willpower, but he doesn’t care. Louis of the bloody Clans is the only peace his mind knows. It isn’t above him to be selfish; to want to be in his presence, to be ever-present in his mind, his body and his heart.

This, wanting him, provokes his worst paranoia. The small terror has put it in his head all this time; the loss of his life. He pretends to be ready and willing, permanently hard to get in touch with. He isn’t either of the two. 

Harry has never been blind to Louis’ fear; not in captivity, not now.

Sunshine doesn’t always shine, and that is okay because Harry never shines. Not for anyone.

Not for anything.

Louis accepts that, and still shines for him so Harry cannot accept him not getting to do all those things he wants to, the very many.

_One thing at a time, Styles._

Starving for him, his alpha redoubles his efforts to disrupt the thin balance between reason and instinct.

Its paralyzing effect works in the animal’s favor. A natural tracker the predator follows the dull pang of his bloodbond. It works all too well, his surroundings blacking out.

He restarts the mainframe of his mind, repressing his alpha until his core balance mends the fractures. Clarity stuns his senses; the swaying flames of a healthy fire beneath the sky, the smells clashing...

Lycan’s, like all other supernatural, have very distinctive scents. Something of the forest, and stagnant water that fends off vampires, and lycan’s will say the same regarding the scent of vampires.

Anyone with supernatural capacities will agree there is no worse scent than an _ahmari_.

“Haz!” his voice is carefree, happy, and best of all real.

And there he is again, stepping into his line of view. His muse, his reason to remain. Dressed in scantly anything, swaying mere feet from the fire with the wolves all around him. Coveting him with their filthy stares no doubt.

Deeming himself the more dangerous of the lot the alpha overlooks them, disregarding any sense of self-preservation because he covets Louis of the Clans just the same. It’s a true alpha weakness.

Only the upper half of Louis’ chest is wrapped in a thin baby blue scarf, his soft collarbones melting into his bare shoulders. His flawless belly on full display, his waist and below shielded by a dropped, flowy skirt that is the same colour as his scarf with a cut that reveals one whole smooth leg.

 _Lovely little evil thing_.

Where his omega is concerned Harry has a very faulty one-track mind, and that is exactly what completely distorts the rest of the world.

“You’re back! _Finally!”_ There is something so sweet about the way he says it; with delight and fervor that ties with his wide eyes.

All of which Harry fully plans to return–when he isn’t testing him to drag his sweet arse into the forest, pin him to the dead leaves, and have his way with him thoroughly. It’s absurd, that he can’t seem to keep his thoughts out of the most perverse places when he’d no doubt prove a blundering fool in bed.

So that makes him both mad _and_ sick.

_In that case…_

“Louis,” he growls, the sound thick with disapproval.

Louis huffs, an obvious pout pushing his bottom lip out just a little, just enough. “Don’t _Louis_ me. You only just got here, how are you already pissed off? And anyway, I’m the one who should be put right off with you. Showing your face here so late.”

Harry doesn’t sum up any proper feedback because the smaller, in all his sensual splendor, all but glides forward, towards him. The color crimson in his eyes Harry feels a desire burning in his bloodstream. This stuns him a little, and all his prior preparation falls so short his voice is almost a snarl. “You’re practically naked.”  

“You ruined my dress,” he says softly, shrugging his delicate shoulders. “I had to improvise.” As far as Louis’ explanations go this one makes sense, but the feelings have set like concrete in his chest. _This_ certainly does not constitute as behaving.

Louis blows out a breath between pursed lips. “Where have you been?”

Harry isn’t accustomed to anyone waiting for him…The fact that he honestly had, causes enough of a reaction that he folds his arms. “None of your business.”

"None of my–" Louis clenches his fists, and Harry is impressed with his sudden self-restraint. "Would it have hurt you to leave your phone on?"

Rarely does Harry ever use his bloody phone. It’s more a liability to carry, especially when operating under full silence as done today. “It didn’t occur to me that you’d attempt to contact. You knew I’d return.” _I will always return for you, princess._  

It’s the truth though. He’s used to walking alone, to surviving alone. It’s a necessary adjunct of his particular abilities. But Louis not only noticed his extensive absence, he’d worried.

His reaction to him intensifies… “You and I have no relationship that implies a commitment to constant availability.”

Louis’ voice is harsh when he replies. "Don't you say that. We have something, and don't you try to pretend it doesn't exist."

He unfolds his arms. "Hardly.” Because he could give him nothing, not even the comfort he so obviously needs. The comfort he'd waited all day to find with him. Rather than being there for him, he'd been out doing violence.  

“Oh please, H. You are not like everyone thinks." The smaller refuses to drop his forceful eyes. "We share somethin’. I see you."

"You see what I choose to show you." He moves away from the open clearing of lycan-land. "In fact, we all simply see what we want to see. It'll be better for both of us if you ask less questions. You appear to be getting too emotionally attached to me."

He actually growls at him, a low throaty sound that seems incongruous coming from his slender throat. "I ought to claw you for that. Lycan style.”

He holds his gaze. "You said so yourself, no? That you are not the one for me. Go find a lycan or a royal or anyone else to give you what you need. I can do without the disruptions. My goal remains the same here. Destroy the _ahmari_ hoard _._ ”

Burning with something entirely different now Louis stalks by him, only granting him a look all royals are born with, the hypercritical, self-aware better-than-thou look. His skirt swings a little as he disappears behind the thick foliage, and that somehow worsens his irresponsible need for him. “As if! You know what, Haz, perhaps we all want to see the same things, mostly. Ever considered that? Ever considered takin’ the time to?” No, he has no business caring about others’ feelings.

Needing to remain resolute the alpha doesn’t follow right away, evening his breaths, centering himself on the endgame.

Knowing better than to leave any royal unattended too long Harry pursues the privacy he’s presented, only narrowly avoiding mowing down one or two old trees in the process.

His vision excels in the shade all the old thriving tress so kindly offer him, and when Louis shows himself again his body, soft and fluid, all but spills into his own.

His dainty gloveless hands cling to his biceps, anchoring them together. Warmth seeping into his skin, straight through his bones into his marrow. “Stop it. Stop pretending you didn’t miss me just as much as I missed you. It’s all driving me mad. You– _bloody you._ Is it ‘cause you’re cold and I burn, baby? I think we’re pretty much opposites. That’s why you’re so consistently against my ways.” He’s on something, something Harry is somehow secondhand high on. That is the most probable explanation for the instant change in pressure and pace at this point.

Even that doesn’t matter much right now. Nothing does when the two of them get in proximity of each other.

His temperature spikes drastically, his heart feral with the same burning want. His fragrance only powers the force of it all, singing silently to him.

Baring his already extended fangs, Harry breaks away from him before the possibility no longer exists. “No way. You can’t go!” he says mulishly, hanging onto his arm until Harry growls deep in his throat, looking directly into his eyes. It’s a mistake because Harry is weak against him, yes, but nothing amounts to what the emotions in his eyes do to him. “You have to be _present_ at the time of our union for it to be worth anything. I’ve _literally_ been waiting all damn day damn it.” As if that is such a long time…

And that. What the fuck is that. _A day decision?_

Louis’ eyes are glassy, a little doe and Harry wants to fuck him. Hard. He wants him to feel the same way he does with him. Raw, demented. All that time. “I know you want it too. It’s all over your aura.” _Wishful thinking._ Harry knows exactly what he is by now, his aura a blackhole, a harvest witch once told him so after channeling his strength to help obliterate a hoard.

Harry unclenches his teeth to mutter a bland, “You wanted nothing to do with me earlier, and now you want to bind yourself to me forever? Goddess, sunshine, don’t be so naïve, you have commitment issues as is.” He’s intentionally cruel because Louis doesn’t know him and doesn’t know what he’d be welcoming into himself. Not all of him, and Harry doesn’t want him to either.

 

“You’re worried I’ll change my mind then?” His voice is purely professional, but there’s an ache in his eyes Harry feels deep in his chest. He’s still fighting, of course he is. “Because I won’t. My feelings for you won’t change. I will always see you first. The you I know. And _yes,_ I’ve had a major change of heart, an epiphany even, but it doesn’t make my feelings any less real.”

 

“What feelings?” he asks, wanting profusely to snap something. Like his own neck. “What bloody feelings because as far as I can tell you don’t so much as trust me.”

 

His eyes look a little broken when they finally meet Harry’s own steadfast scowl. “Harry.” A shudder rips up his spine, his mind entirely taken by the shapes his mouth forms when saying his name. He could lose himself so easily in him, in his sound, his movement, his essence. Definitely his heart. He doesn’t stand a single chance against him, not right now and probably not ever again. “Haz, baby, you really can’t tell… I’m genuinely a bit concerned for your levels of being emotionally tone deaf.”

 

Having nothing to really input Harry tries to recall his priorities, none of which call for this sort of emotional response. Feelings his brain can’t quite equate. As Louis’ tiny hands squeeze his forearms, his body pushes forward a new way. A candid, trusting way that balances him, unraveling the confused coils of his brain. It’s as if the blinds have been opened in the dark place that’s been his mind.

 

And even after everything Harry’s been through, he has never met anybody like Louis. 

 

“You do it for me too, y’know.” The small one smiles minutely then adds nostalgically, “I know I haven’t been entirely upfront with you, and because I do want to bond with you before the sun comes out and you literally combust…”

 

There is much going on around them, he’s sure, but he doesn’t know what. All he knows is Louis, and his mutant frequency. “I’m quite crazy for you–,” no he is simply crazy, ever mercurial, “–I always have been,” he confesses softly, lightning in his starry-night eyes. To some extent Harry’s always known this, but still can’t grasp it, feeling defenseless and hating it.

 

“That couldn’t begin to cover it all…but what I need you to know is that you have everything of mine. Before you knew the real me, my evil and my good, because…Well I could never trust myself with my own heart, and I could always trust you. You didn’t know me, but you…I knew you.” His voice falls to a demure hush, and Harry is going to combust before the sun even has its chance. He doesn’t want to miss it, not one glorious second of it.

 

“You’ve been so sad, so lonely.” Inwardly cringing at the jab Harry lets out a low snarl, insulted. It’s humiliating, being unable to deny or lie.

 

“You growling at me only proves my point.” Harry doesn’t see how, but Louis doesn’t stop there, “If I’m wrong then just look me in the eyes and tell me so.”

 

Damn it but he can’t, and Louis is well aware of this too.

 

“I’m only callin’ you out because I get it, it’s confusing. All of this. For me too. I know there’s not much to prove it…but you’re so good for me. And I’m so, so good for you, aren’t I? We’re good _together_ so why can’t we choose to do good together too. I knew we were in love the first day I met you. We made eye contact and I forgot I was scared long enough to think _I want this one’s fledglings_ and I’m sorry I’m rambling. The point is–I dunno…I don’t ever wanna lose you.”

 

He’s breathing harder now, and so is Louis, both having drifted impossibly closer sometime throughout.

 

He moves without any knowledge of doing so, losing himself a little more in the other as his fingers flex around his slender throat. Emotion stampedes all over his heart, watching as Louis’ pupils visibly shrink, engulfing his eyes with that eerie electric blue. He squeezes to stop him now before it’s too late.

 

He won’t do this, not with him. He will not–, “It scares me too. I didn’t know you like this before. I had no idea you’d be…like this.” Harry’s eyes start to sting furiously, discomfort inflating in his tight throat. “Every day I’ve learned about you, all these things nobody else has ever seen and I–,”

 

“You don’t know that,” he stops him from saying something they both might regret. _You don’t want to know._ “You don’t know everything.”

 

Such sad stories should be forgotten, but he’s never been able to–it’ll be Louis’ to do away with now. “Tell me. I need to know.” Devoted to putting Louis’ feelings before his own, or anyone else’s for that matter, Harry understands this one, pure necessity. Even though it means disappointment for them both.

 

Louis’ lashes sweep up and he blinks once then twice. “Nothing will change my mind. You have never let me down before so don’t think this time will be any different. So just…let me love you. That’s all, and maybe when this is all over, you’ll love me back. Maybe you won’t…but my love will always belong to you. Be on fire with me, live violently, recklessly. _Feel_.”

 

His skin breaks out in chills though he is hot as a fever, just able to taste it. Him, his light. And he already loves him back, the chemical irreversibly twisting his most basic being. It’s a known fact: vampires mate only once.

 

With every fiber of his being he wants all of him, all of that, enough to expose the worst of himself.

 

It’s the first and last time Harry will ever speak of it, his youth. “I told you all I’ve ever had was my sister…I had no one and nothing else because I was exiled for the murder of my _marema_. I was told she had Passed during delivery and when I was old enough to understand my crime, the Executioner made clear to the entire camp the sort of evil I had committed. I could not go unpunished.”

 

His tongue weighs a ton in his mouth, but it’s not difficult to work out once it seems Louis’ sharp intake of breath will move into verbal territory. He has to tell it all at once or else he never will finish. “I was to be starved, tortured, and humiliated if ever spotted or summoned. Many of my fledgling years I remained in the corners and shadows, scared to be alone and scared to be seen. As both caused pain.” Thinking about it always tugs brutally at the nasty scar, speaking about it almost re-opens the old wounds and raises the dead. The ugliness.

Peace evading him, the alpha automatically seeks out Louis’ eyes again. His lovely eyes illuminated with a clarity he’s now relying on to stay out of those memories. “There was only pain…I thought myself worse than any _ahmari_. But Gemma was always there for me no matter what. Even knowing I had ended the life of our mother, even though it meant risking her own life. If not for my sister I…” He clears his throat, deciding not to finish because it’s irrelevant. He survived, and he found this, him.

 

“I always knew I would kill the Executioner but after...Her dying wish was for me to never stop fighting, to fight for what was in my heart…”

 

As if reading his mind or sensing his struggle Louis reaches up to brush his hair out of his face, and Harry smells his skin. It’s detoxifying, rich and rosy, distinctly him.

 

“But she was all I had, Gemma. Without her…there was nothing but hate and pain. Another promised penalty for my crime against my mother. Fighting was all I could do. I kept my promise and I fought until I was stronger, until I could avenge her.” Knowing Louis will appreciate the gory details Harry delivers them dutifully, describing the mighty Desmond Styles bleeding out from the slashes behind his knees and across his Achilles tendons face down out nude on the floor. He had been most meticulous about the entire tribulation, perfecting the plan, obsessing over it.

 

Needing it.

 

After debilitating the male for days with small doses of nightshade in his ale, Harry had stabbed every one of his devoted soldiers stationed at various points around his private chambers, to their Passing. Anyone to stand in his way ended in the same fire with their master.

 

It had been an extermination. Something that had to be done, no matter the consequence, no matter the state it’d leave his soul in.

 

Feeling nothing Harry had doused his sire in petrol, crouching beside his bulky body with a box of matches in hand. While committing the image to memory to use as a reminder that the Executioner would never hurt him again, he’d spoken to Gemma for the last time, letting her know her soul could rest then.

 

Doing so only enraged the other male, his last moments made to hurt Harry as his breaths billowed harsh and bull-like. “ _You foolish..._ valkyrn _. I killed your…whore marema! Just as I killed your whore…si…sister and should have…done you! Now…my traitorous seed…you are naugh’ but darkness–your soul a m-m-mirror im-age of mine!”_

 

The coward hadn’t stayed alive long enough after Harry had dropped a lit match. His gurgled screams smothered in the smoke, his blackened body twisting sporadically as the fire feasted.

 

Louis’ lashes are damp now, and Harry wipes his hot cheeks hastily with a care only Louis will ever know he’s even capable of. “Don’t be sad, sunshine. I don’t like it. Never cry over me.” _You make it so that I feel nothing for all the years that led me here…_ How impossible.

 

His bottom lip wobbles, but he nods once, a slight tilt Harry understands as his clear to continue. He explains to his best ability.

 

“My _marema_ was a highly esteemed royal of the _vymia_. A beauty with the breeding necessary for the Executioner to sire heirs. He would have never allowed his power to become compromised, not for a crime against a royal. Fortunately for him the Clans obstinately avoided visiting Camp. I am unaware of other accomplices, but there was no one to consider or question nonetheless. Camp was not a place for those of pure breeding…especially no _truebloods._ ”

 

Sucking in one hard breath Harry ignores the extreme slowing of his heart and puts into words everything he is. “I spent all my life in darkness, hated and alone thinking I deserved it...Thinking I did not deserve love after what I’d done. Forever afraid I would hurt or do worse to my beloved sister or anyone I dared get close to. I wanted him to suffer the worst. I wanted him to understand what was becoming of him, and why…but the truth is… _dhraga_ I didn’t know who I was anymore. I set him on fire then because I... I lost myself. I was just as he’d said…”

 

To this day the notion horrifies him, but before it ever sets in the feeling is replaced by the fierce conviction in Louis’ instant reply, “You’re _not._ You’ve never been, Haz. You aren’t evil. I’ve seen evil and you…you’re just–,”

 

Figuring he doesn’t want him to finish the alpha bites, “I’m not good either.”

 

“Good and bad, Haz…that’s all so black-and-white, and nothing about life is so…so… _simple_. D’you think I’m always good?”

 

Harry regards him curiously because contrary to Louis’ first claims on his rat-sized brain, he is quite smart. Saying no, even if it hasn’t occurred to the small assassin yet, will no doubt bring about something nasty. Saying yes would be an outright and quite frankly ridiculous lie–Louis is an assassin after all. “Exactly! I’m not, and you’re not, and neither is anyone else because sometimes you can’t be. We’re all flawed that way, pre-packaged with good _and_ bad sides.”

 

It’s not a bad side though, it’s a bad heart. “I don’t fit in…” _Stay away from me…I’m warning you._

 

“Who cares? Be a misfit. You fit in just fine with me.” He sniffles as he says so.

 

Louis has him by the heart, pretty face pinched as if he’s in pain. “What happened to you…it will _never_ be okay, and I hate it. You deserved better.” He tries blinking the blood-tears away as Louis’ glowing hand settles on his jaw, his body seeking Harry’s out, a perfect fit. “You _deserve_ better, and I am so sorry. I am…but that ends now. You are not who you were. The person you’ve had to be to survive and the person you _are…_ they’re two very different monsters. And I like who you are. I _get you._ And you get me…Baby, you deserve to have someone that gets you. Have _me._ You asked about the many things I want to do with my life and this is one of them. I want it with you. I can do this without you, Haz, but I don’t want to. Please don’t make me. Don’t leave me here all alone.”

 

Harry’s neural activity feels heightened, pheromones and chemicals blurring his judgement. Without caring to reassemble it the alpha curls his arm around his waist, needing to feel him. _Can you blame me for getting lost in the promise of you, sweet creature?_

 

Louis’ fingers brush back and forth along his jaw, pressing down on his racing pulse point ever few heartbeats. “Besides we’ve practically been dating for months! I fight loyally for my Goddess and her truth, but baby let’s be honest I’ve always had questionable morality and you aren’t so bad. I think we fit quite nicely together.” _You’re perfect for me, a wolf in sheep’s skin._ His giggle is full of energy, and he’s one hundred percent in his head now. “Think about it, the feelings were always there. They’ll never go away.” It’s never going to feel like it’s done.

 

And now Harry never wants it to be either.  “If we do this you’ll have to stay. If we do this, princess, you’re mine. Your secrets, your feelings, company…Your faith. I expect all of it. You will never be alone again I swear it.” He’s lost in the moment with him, his own reflection looking back at him in Louis eyes. And everything he needs to be good is suddenly right there, in this small, otherworldly creature. “I thought my life ended with Gemma, but the truth is it never started until you. And ever since…there’s only been you _._ There will only ever be you…” His hands are shaking from holding back, Louis’ head tilted back now so their noses bump ever-so-slightly. “Everything I’ve been doing has been for you. I’d give you the world if I could, but until then you’ll have me.”

 

It’s inescapable so Harry won’t try anymore, timing the seconds between their questions. “Do you want this…with me?” _I have to have you. I don’t care what you are anymore…I’m your protector._

 

Goddess help him, he nods. It’s the instinct, it’s purely against him and everything his and yet he _nods._

 

“You know how you feel, Haz. Fuck waiting, fuck thinking about it. My heart doesn’t ever lie to me, that’s why I follow it. Follow your own.” Louis’ breath is warm, teasing his lips, fully inducing magic between them. “Make me your queen before you lose me. It’s now or never, babycakes.”

 

&&

 

            “You agreed not to call me that.” Louis feels his voice deep in his belly and squirms, needing to break away before the sensation gets to his head any more than it already has.

The smile Harry wears so achingly well thrills him, infectious and oh so boyish. Goddess he’s never looked so young.

“Then why’re you grinning like mad over it?” Unconsciously he runs his littlest finger along the curve of his bottom lip, slightly delighted, slightly disoriented. Wholly in-love.

“I’m grinning because I’m going to own you.” Crimson eyes almost glittering, the alpha’s smile shifts into a tilt more sinister, and Louis couldn’t leave now if he wanted to. His omega loves the unbound dominance the alpha’s displaying on him, and it has Louis pushing up onto his tiptoes, needing to be all over him. Badly lustful and eager to do whatever it is Harry desires.

Then telling everyone they fell in love with each other. Even after everything.

His lips are desperate, wet and open, fixing them together. “Takin’ your time, aren’t you?”

“You aren’t going anywhere.” They are just the same–always playing to win.

Goddess, Louis loves the violence in the way Harry kisses him in the forest’s flimsy shade, filthy and hard with his tongue working this erotic rhythm on his own. Tracing the insides of his mouth hungrily, the alpha’s taste is clean and natural and heady. Louis’ so into it, stroking Harry’s tongue with the same force, desire unfurling in his belly like heated honey by the time Harry feels on his fully drawn fangs.

Pleasure, swift and sharp and so sweet, detonates in his body seconds behind the pain of Harry’s fangs sinking deep into his bottom lip.

Louis whimpers, his blood smearing on their frantically moving mouths. His hands are claws around Harry’s shoulders, his hips jumping a little in search of friction for his swollen hard cock that’s leaking all over his thigh and skirt. He’s never been so hard, so wet…

Goddess, his entire body feels gooey and so does his mind, all solely focused on the sounds coming from deep in Harry’s chest, smoky and feral.

“You really don’t seem to be in s-such a hurry for an alpha about to bond himself to the omega of his dreams, are you–,”

“Thirty til dawn, princess, are you certain that’s enough time? I have half the mind to call off this whole thing. A day is hardly enough time–,” If it’s the last thing Louis does, he will trap this alpha today. They’ll both be lost before dawn because Louis understands now this was no accident. Nyx intended them to be, so be they would.  

“Speak for yourself, Haz, I’ve got years under my belt.” He backs his statement up with a scattering of small kisses along his jaw, living in his scent, needing it. He can tell Harry’s pleased, either by his words or his obvious clinginess.

Goddess but before any progress can be made, he’s got to stop gasping from that kiss.

“Don’t back out now, big boy. Being forsaken by your _solis_ after pouring your cold heart out is a huge turn-off. Probably number one. Not answering your phone after leaving your omega is definitely turn-off number two. So, when I call from now on, you’d better answer me, warrior.” _I’m so twisted for you._

“Would you come for me? Follow me anywhere?” He’s all intensity, reminding Louis that he’s still very much secured in his well-built arms. Quite comfortably at that.

“Into the sun.” _Gah_ –he can’t think.

Harry’s staring at him with those forceful flame red eyes and Louis’ in knee-deep in his fucking feelings.

He never imagined a mating ritual for himself, but after the first mention of it from Zayn he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Going through with such a sacred act is indulging big time, which isn’t new to him, but it must be to Harry. Rushing into things, communication, _bonding._ An unorthodox bonding at that.

He nibbles his bottom lip. “I’ve been lying to myself so excuse me if this is all a little much. I’m a mess as you know. I’m nearly a century old and I haven’t an idea who or what I am…but I’m so close now, baby. So let me stand corrected. I’ve been waiting for you my whole damn life. You’re my safe place, baby. You’re my home.” _I love you so much it hurts…_ “I'd like to know one more thing…why didn’t you ever fight me? Or hurt me. At the beginning I mean. I was careless often…you could’ve…”

“No, I truly couldn’t…I am…peculiar in that way, sparing the small and such. A true fault in character.” There’s something teasing there, and Louis can’t even stifle his huge smile–of course, so cliché and confident and not fair at all. “Well I hope you’ve learnt your lesson on underestimating the small. Speed bests strength, my love.” Louis’ always loved to flirt, and with this male it’s better than ever, ever-thrilling. His…mate. Wow, that’ll take a lot of getting used to. He’d love to have the chance. _Please Goddess give me the chance._

“But really…I know I get under your skin and you’ve wanted to wring my neck plenty of times so why–,”

“As I said death has a certain appeal when you’re an immortal killing-machine. After a while I saw no rush, no reason in it…You…You are entertaining and I…I don’t know, I didn’t have to see you to know you were special. _Dhraga,_ you never had to hide from me.” Such hurt crosses his expression before his face hardens and he hisses, “Never hide from me again.” _How could I? After this love story…_

 

Louis glimpses Harry’s vulnerability then as he twines his fingers in the too long curls at the nape of his neck. It somehow deepens his attraction…

 

Harry’s just like an angel. An angel of death. Which is far more alluring, far more Louis’ type. He doesn’t know who moves in first but he’s then whispering softly against his lips, “I won’t. I won’t, I promise I won’t. And I wasn’t hiding. I was being the enigma I am. Who happens to also be here to entertain you, all yours for the rest of all your immortal life if you’ll just accept that we’re fated. And we are, babycakes. So, take me. Now, please.”

 

A kiss is tame in comparison to what his omega is hungry for, longing for. Still…

 

The tall vampire is emptying out his lungs, but Louis’ won his alpha over that is evident, and this time Harry can’t escape him. Not ever, not even if he tried…

 

A sexy, powerful Executioner all his own… _oh sweet Goddess you’ve rewarded me grandly._  

 

And the proof? For all the ugly things they have done and suffered, their entwined hands look beautiful together. It’s all surreal, low-key and intimate and exactly what they both deserve. He’ll never forget this feeling, he’s never been so happy.

 

So much so that he feels no pain whatsoever slicing his palm wide open with the entire pack as their witness. Using the same enchanted blade Harry mimics the action as Liam instructs, taking his bleeding hand back without hesitation now, initiating their bond.

 

They exist solely for each other, and Louis’ burning with anticipation and desire and complete amazement over Harry’s actual disposition to rush into this with him. He’d never been so lucky…Goddess if only it didn’t have to be this way…

 

 _It does though…_ a tempered voice of madness. _The nameless one nears._

 

All thoughts outside of this, them, and _him_ banish, as those grave ( _green_ again) eyes recapture him sure as jewels would and Harry’s just as lovely to look at. This bond is what Louis will use later to endure Harry’s pain as there is so much of it. So much Louis vows to expel, to force out of his heart.

 

He’ll always grieve the youth, the love and light, the previous Executioner in all his evil deeds against Harry had snatched. The very omega core of him almost dissolves into tears at the mere thought, wishing again he could slaughter the male himself. However, Louis knows Harry won’t respond well to such a display of emotion. Not over the dead, and that Harry is dead.

 

This damaged version is very much alive though and will always keep his heart.

 

With their blood melding Louis walks Harry around the restrained fire four times, each time promising a part of himself to the alpha. His body, his mind, his soul and his heart. And when Harry walks him around his body fizzles like the fire, energy crackling in the air. He feels almost swanlike, like a tiny dancer for his warrior vampire.

 

He’s so grateful this hasn’t required any speaking on his part thus far because that’d surely be a bad start for their mating. His omega is teeming with bliss, Harry's bonding scent marking him, but as the delicious magic of the mating magnifies Louis feels utterly awful, tricking them both like this…

 

Promising Harry a bond and his omega a knot only to fall into a deep sleep that’d deliver him to the dream world only he could ever awaken himself from. _If_ he could awaken himself.

 

His body shivers alternately between fear and need. He meant it though, he’d follow him anywhere. As he thinks so the alpha’s hold on him constricts, as if sensing a threat or danger. Clever vampire, clutching him close as if that’d keep him.

 

There is an electricity in the air so like what his body builds up in blue, but more heady, carnal and oh so substantial. I

 

He’s never felt closer or more apart of any being, his omega daring to pursue with no need to hesitate in meeting his fated alpha.

 

Unfortunately, Zayn really hadn’t been exaggerating, even the thin sheer and skirts he’d donned are too much on his skin, too heavy for such hypersensitivity.

 

His minds signals are crossing too quickly, tangling, twisting…clogging up.

 

As a gutting panic looms his wounded palm lays over Harry’s thundering heart. _Yes,_ mine.

 

Damn it, he really doesn’t want to part like this, during this special, stolen moment, but he can feel the magic all over like a flare. Growing stronger and stronger still…

 

“What’s happening. Why does he… _What did you do to him?_ ” his deep rumbling voice is savage, and concern cuts through the seductive ebb and flow of sleep to mumble, “Haz no no no. Stop, ‘m not hurt…It’s the joining magic, taking me beyond…My fault, had to. I’m s-sorry, don’t be mad…”

 

At this point he doesn’t feel much, which isn’t exactly a bad thing as he imagines the separation anxiety for his omega…However, is jolted a little more conscious when the most coldhearted and brutal of the vampires shelters his form and nuzzles his handsome face into his touch. _You could never be evil…_

_Our love is a fire in my heart and it’ll burn forever._

 

_So sleepy…Stay focused._

 

Swallowing any apprehension Louis rasps, “All of this…I meant it. Still do…Wanna stay with you forever.”

 

It’s here, whatever it is, it’s come for him and he won’t delay any longer. Hoping to convey that this is temporary and nothing to go berserk over Louis whispers softly, smugly, “I can’t wait for our honeymoon, babycakes. Won’t be long now.”

 

Goddess help all the others if it was…Even in another realm Louis would be safer than all others, trusted this. Because his alpha didn’t seem to mind setting flame to the entire world around him, but he’d never let a flame touch his omega.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? xx
> 
> (Please feel free to let me know if I've left anything without warning! I try my best, but I might miss somethings!)


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